Family Duty Honor
by Missy Tea
Summary: Wars were hard. Wars took lives. Wars also meant a Betrothal to a woman he's never met. When you play the game you win or you die.
1. Chapter 1

**Greetings. So I took a short break from writing, but writing is my therapy so I can never stay away for long. This is something I've been thinking of doing for a while and have finally gotten round to writing it. Its basically Ned and Cat's story from Game of Thrones told using Downton's characters. Obviously its a tricky one and I've messed a lot with ages and family ties and left out certain aspects or changed them around. After this chapter I have one more half written, but after that its up to you if I continue. I hope you enjoy it.**

 **I own nothing. All rights belong to Julian Fellows and George RR Martin. May they never meet.**

The towers of Riverrun, stretched high into the sky, giving a spectacular view of river below, which shone in the rising sun. Usually there were several fish wives and their children on the rocks by the river, but at this time of the morning there wasn't a soul to be seen. The castle, in which Charles Carson sat in, was always warm thanks to the sun always being on it, yet for a castle that housed a few hundred men it could also be incredibly silent, as it was now. Although Charles's father had returned a few hours earlier with half his army, Charles could almost hear the mice scurrying in the dungeons. A sad silence had enveloped the castle after everyone had settled their horses, filled their bellies and retired to bed. Charles suspected the eerie silence was caused by the fact that his father had only returned with half the army after suffering a grave defeat in Kings Landing, forcing the castle to go into a perpetual state of mourning. War took lives, this Charles was more than aware of, but losing his brother to the king and half his men to the royal army was a harsh reality that he wished he did not need to face. What was the point of war? Thousands died in order to gain a scrap or two of land. His brother had been captured while attempting an invasion on the capital and then brutally slaughtered while the King looked on and laughed. Rumors that circled the fishwives claimed that he was sick to the head and Charles imagined that you would have to be, in order to watch and enjoy someone screaming as they burned. Five hundred wives and their children would never see their loved ones again and Charles could taste the regret and responsibility at the back of his throat. Eventually he himself succumbed to a restless slumber, slouched in the chair by the window. It felt like he had barely dozed off when one of his father's squires had been sent to rouse him, the sun now much higher in the sky, and Charles could hear the children playing on the rocks below his window. After a quick meal of bread and honey in the kitchen, he made his way to the great hall where he found maps strewn across the table, a plate of barely touched food and his father, staring out of a window, watching the river below them go rushing by.

"You asked to see me?" Charles said, not knowing whether he should sit or remain standing. His father didn't move a muscle but replied in the short and clipped way he had recently developed.

"The North still needs to stand with us. We need their men more than ever if we are to end this war."

"Will they still side with us after Roberts... bethrothal came to such a brutal end?" Charles asked, trying to put his brothers death in the most delicate way he knew how.

"Of course they will. The betrothal still stands."

"But how can it? Robert was-"

"Of course she won't be marrying Robert!" His father snapped, glancing over his shoulder at Charles "She was promised to the heir of the Riverlands. Since Robert was killed, my title now falls to-"

"Me." Charles muttered "but father, I have never even met her. How can you ask me to marry a girl who I've never met?" He could almost feel the disdain that rolled off his father as he pondered the question

"You will marry her. After your wedding night you won't even have to see her. If we have any hope of ending this war we need the North to stand with us."

"Father, if the north had any inclination to stand with us, surely they would have done so without me having to marry their daughter."

Charles' father turned from his position at the window and gave him a look that could freeze ones blood.

"You know as well as I do, boy, that with only two daughters, one of which is incapable of ever being married, they dare not risk Lord Hughes going into war. Should he be killed there is no one to rule the North and it would fall into the hands of the crown, the very same crown, as it happens, that we are at war with." He said with a slight sneer. Charles resisted the urge to sigh. His father had aged by many decades in the last year. Losing his wife and eldest son while being at war with the crown had hardened him. Charles remembered the light hearted man, who was never too tired to tell the children a story even after riding for miles. He used to be able to tell if something upset someone within moments of laying eyes on them and would never have dreamed of forcing a marriage on someone. But desperate times called for desperate measures and here Charles sat, in the great hall of Riverrun, listening to his father discuss betrothals and war strategies, all in the same sentence.

"I understand that but why must it be me? Surely Thomas would be the better option?"

"Thomas? For Gods sake Charles, she is the eldest daughter of the North! Heir to almost half the country! It is only fitting that she be married to the heir of the Riverlands."

"Which should have been Robert."

"Yes, it should have been Robert. But Robert was murdered by our King so therefore the duty falls to you." His father strode forward and leant on the table in front of Charles. "I will not have you shaming the family name by causing us to lose this war because you have no wish to marry. Do you hear me?"

Charles nodded and his father straightened up. Charles watching him rolling up maps while he came to terms with his sudden betrothal. Eventually he cleared his throat and asked the dreaded question.

"And when are we to be wed?"

"She will arrive later today. You will wed on the eve of tomorrow and we ride for Kingslanding the morning after." He father answered sharply

"The morning after? And if I am killed?"

"Then I hope you will have done your duty by her and put a son inside her."

"You are giving me one night to wed and bed a daughter of the north before riding off to war?" Charles asked, feeling his jaw slacken slightly. His father flicked his gaze towards him before returned to focusing on the map once more

"I don't see how this is a problem. Surely one night is long enough to create one heir?" He asked in a dangerously low tone

"And what if I am killed? After I wed her."

"Then she will marry Thomas." His father replied simply, gathering the maps and piling them into his arms. He paused for a moment and added in the softest tone Charles had heard him use in months. "The North must stand with us Charles, if we have any hope of winning this war. The king may have lost his wits, but his family remains strong and while the Green's side with them they are no easy target."

"Can you at least tell me if she is pretty?" Charles asked quietly. Perhaps a pretty face would make this easier to bear. His father rolled his eyes and moved towards the stairs.

"No idea. I haven't yet laid eyes on her."

 **Next chapter will be Lady Elsbeth Hughes.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you all for your reviews, especially all the guest reviewers! I had forgotten how much fun it was to write, and have people read it.**

Elsbeth Hughes had gotten on her first horse at the tender age of three and had rarely been seen off of one since. She loved to ride, loved the warmth of the animal between her thighs, loved the wind in her hair and loved the speed. So needless to say she was more than content to spend three weeks on a horse traveling from Winterfell to Riverrun, where her new husband awaited her. Like every young girl in Downton she had been raised on stories by the fire side, songs at tourneys and whispers among the washer woman. She knew all about the princesses being rescued by princes, of princes falling in love with scullery maids, of Kings marrying Princesses from far off distant lands. Elsie Hughes had been raised to believe in love. She had seen the love between her parents before her mothers untimely death, she had asked the old woman, who had taught her how to read, write and sew, to tell her the old love stories over and over again until both she and her sister knew them off by heart. So it came as a bit of surprise to her that she was to be married shortly to a man she had never met, let alone loved. Her journey to meet her betrothed was almost at end, they were so close that she could see the turrets from the castle in front of her. Her riding party were tired and dirty, so she was glad that their journey was almost at an end, even though a sense of dread spiked through her with every step closer. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She was supposed to be surrounded by family, about to marry the man that had swept her off her feet. Instead, she rode with ten of her fathers bannermen, her maid and her septa. Her Father had been forced to remain at home, unable to leave the North because of the war. The majority of her father's army remained at the Trident, where in a few days time they would meet up with her husband to be's army, and they would once again ride to battle. A battle, that could render her a widow.

"My Lady, we are nearing the gates. Perhaps you should lower your hood."

Elsie looked over at the strong man that rode next to her. He too wore a hood to hide his golden hair, but one could still see his mischievous smile.

"I would prefer to lower my hood when we get to the gates Tom, the woods are still thick here and in the middle of a war, enemies surround us."

"As my Lady wishes" Tom bowed his head, and pushed his horse on to ride ahead. Before she knew it, the gates to Riverrun were a mere twenty yards in front of her. Reluctantly, she lowered her hood. It was now, that the fantasies came to an end. It was now, that she became a woman grown. They drew to a stop in front of the large gates which pictured two leaping trout. One of the many new things she would have to get used to was the change of sigil. She was going from a running wolf to a leaping trout. Guards yelled out and Tom rode forward to announce who they were. It should have been Joe riding with her, keeping her calm as she faced the unknown but she hadn't seen Joe in over a month. The poor foolish boy, who had contested this very arrangement. Elsbeth wondered how he was fairing after returning to his small keep, somewhere far South. Before she knew it they were riding in, Tom had handed off his own horse to a young stable boy, and was now helping her dismount from her own. She gave him a grateful smile which he returned with a wink while she pulled off her riding gloves. She looked up to find three men waiting for her, with a few of their bannermen waiting behind them. Steeling herself for the inevitable she handed her gloves to Tom and slowly walked to meet them.

"Lady Hughes, welcome."

A tall, but weathered man gently kissed her hand and Elsbeth took a moment to study him. His hair was as white as the winter snows, and his face was hard. His blue eyes portrayed no emotion except for a slight impatience. Yet there were smile lines around his eyes. At some point this man had known joy in his life.

"Lord Carson, thank you. I must express my condolences at the loss of your son." She replied quietly, as she curtsied.

"This are my sons, Charles and Thomas." The man replied, not commenting on the death of his eldest and gesturing to where two young men stood. She glanced at both of them. The one had hair as dark as night, with eyes that matched and a slight sneer upon his face. He nodded briefly in her direction before averting his eyes to the ground again. He was handsome, but in an angry sort of way. Her eyes however, were drawn to the second man. He was tall. Taller than his father and was more powerfully built than the dark haired man. His hair was a dark brown, yet his eyes were a light hazel. He stood stiffly, a large sword strapped to his side, and his sigil emblazed on his chest. So this was the man she was to marry.

"Lady Hughes, its an honor to have you with us." He said, stepping forward and taking her hand

"Thank you." She replied, wondering what one was supposed to say to the man you would be married to come nightfall.

"I hope you will be very comfortable with us. It will, after all be your home for awhile."

Elsbeth looked up at her new home, a three sided castle, made of a pale sandstone. From where she was standing, walls prevented her from seeing the rivers, but if she listened closely she could hear them gushing. It was light and airy and had never known the harsh winter snows that they got up north. People moved in the battlements, and she could hear the hounds barking in the kennels.

"Your home is lovely" she remarked politely "I'm sure I will be very comfortable here."

"Lady Hughes." Lord Carson interrupted "I am sorry that this must all be done in such haste. But we only have a few hours before the wedding takes place, and I am sure you would like to clean up and change. Maester Clark, will show you and your maid to your room."

Elsbeth stepped back from Charles and nodded at the older man, who was dressed entirely in grey who gave her a smile in return.

"The stable boys have already taken your things up to your room" he told her "so if you would follow me..."

He turned to go, and she hastily followed. As they turned a corner to start the climb of a long narrow staircase she saw Charles Carson watching her with mild interest, and a slight shiver went down her back.

 **This is a bit of a crazy fic to write, so I beg you to review.**


	3. Chapter 3

**I am astounded by the love this fic is getting. Thank you all so very much! For those of you who have watched GoT, I know that they wouldn't have done both the weirwood tree wedding and in the sept, but I couldn't decide and did both.**

The godswood at Riverrun was light and airy, and alive with the music of streams rushing by. Redwood trees dominated the vegetation with the occasional old Elm towering above them. In the center, stood the weirwood tree. The weirwood tree was not nearly as large as the ones up in the North but it was still the largest tree in the gods wood. With its blood red leaves and bone white bark, it would have stood out in any forest even with out the face of a weeping woman etched upon it. It seemed odd to Charles to be getting married in front of such a heart wrenching image, but as his wife-to-be still worshiped the old gods, this would be where the wedding would take place. Charles had been raised in the faith of the seven. He worshiped in a sept, with the light bouncing off a seven sided crystal and the faces of his gods were as well known to him as his own mothers. He had always imagined that the face of the Maiden would be smiling down on his as he brought a woman under his protection as his wife. Instead, they would marry here and only visit the sept later on. He stood with his father on one side of him and the Maester on the other. Thomas was naturally no where to be seen, no doubt as drunk as a sailor in some brothel outside the castle walls. A few of his bannermen and the few that had traveled with her stood a few meters back from the weirwood, all dressed in their finest armor, waiting for the bride to enter the woods. Charles shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, the weight of the sword an unnatural one. Charles was not a fighter. He was a reader. He could tell you all there was to know about any war that ever took place, could tell you what herbs to use to heal an oozing wound, knew every poison there was to know. If things had been different and Charles had been the youngest, he would have renounced his claim on anything that might have been his and studied to become a Maester himself. Instead, he now stood to inherit a title which he never wanted and was set to marry a woman he had barely met. A sudden hush went over the godswood as Lady Hughes stepped into view, the golden haired man that had ridden with her by her side. She was dressed in the northern colours of a white dress and a light grey cloak, with her sigil embroided on the back. Her hair was no longer in a braid, but rather loose down her back with the side pieces pinned back. Most southern woman pinned their hair into elaborate designs on top of their heads, but Charles decided he liked this style better. Her grey eyes were darting here and there, taking in the beauty of the godswood. She did not smile, but she still looked regal and peaceful. When she reached Charles, she inclined her head slightly.

"Who comes before the Old Gods?" The Maester asked and the golden haired man stepped forward

"Elsabeth of house Hughes comes here to be wed" he said, in a clear voice "A woman grown, trueborn and noble, heir to Winterfell and the North. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?"

Charles cleared his throat and stepped forward

"Charles, of House Carson, heir to Riverrun and the Riverlands. Who gives her?"

"Tom, of house Branson, captain of her Father's Guards."

"Lady Hughes, do you accept this man?" The Maester asked and she replied in a quiet voice, staring up at the weirwood tree as she spoke

"I do."

"Then let it be done." The Maester said "In the eyes of the old gods, you are now one."

Charles turned to face her and offered his hand. She took it gently and together they made their way down the path and into the sept.

After stepping down the three stairs that led into the sept Charles immediately felt more at ease. The statutes of his gods looked down on him, the seven pointed star towering above them and the incense filled his lungs. Lights darted from the candles to the crystals, and on to their faces, creating a welcoming glow. The maester moved to the dias in the middle of the seven sided room and Charles waited for the guests to find their seats before leading his bride to stand before him. He could see her shaking ever so slightly and felt a tinge of pity. Here she was, getting married in a religion she barely knew, surrounded by strangers. Yet she did not waver. Charles was struck by the sudden thought that she might be braver than anyone in this room.

"You may now cloak the bride, bringing her under your protection" The maester said, holding a crystal in one hand and a holy scripture in the other. Charles first removed her grey cloak and handed it to Tom Branson, then removed his own and draped it over her shoulders. There was something quite satisfying is seeing her draped in his colours. The red brought out the highlights in her hair and the silver matched her eyes. The Maester gestured for them to raise their hands in front of them, and gently wrapped a cloth around them.

"In the light of the seven faced god, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Look upon one another and say the words."

Charles turned to face his bride and together they recited

"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days."

"Let it be known that Elsbeth of House Hughes and Charles of House Carson are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.". The maester announced, before looking pointedly at Charles, who cleared his throat and said

"With this kiss, I pledge my love." Before bending down and kissing her very gently on the soft skin at the corner of her mouth. The small crowd, broke into applause with a few wolf whistles coming from her side. Charles smiled down at her and she smiled back, looking up at him with her grey eyes. Unable to help himself, Charles leant down and kissed her again.

"Let us adjourn to the great hall" The Maester called over the din "where we shall join Lord and Lady Carson in celebrating their union."

"Shall we go?" He asked her

"Yes, let's" she replied.

 **Well that was fun! Next chapter will be the feast. Please review and let me know your thoughts. If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to ask and I'll try and explain.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you again to all of you who are following this tale. I just wanted to add, that this story is dedicated to Rosemary, who fuelled my love for books and especially Game of Thrones, Harry Potter and The Hunger Games. She stood up against all that was wrong in the world, and now, her watch has ended.**

There was something oddly amusing about any wedding feast, whether it be in the North or the South. She was seated in the Great Hall of Riverrun on a raised dias, with a massive stone table in front of her which was laden with hundreds of plates of various fish, pies and the occasional roast. Tom Branson sat on her left, holding a conversation with one of Charles' many cousins and her husband on her right, who was watching his father talk to one of the Lords from the south, who had been invited to the wedding. Below them, men at arms, fishwives and serving girls, ate, drank and danced. The sound of music was mixed with chatter and laughter until it all became one continuous hum. Elsbeth watched them all, hoping that they were having a good time. Tomorrow they would ride off and many would not return, her husband included. She slid her eyes over towards him, and watched as he took a careful sip of wine before turning his attention back to the plate in front of him. She looked down at her own plate of food. Most of it had now gone cold, but she felt little like eating it. The few bites she had managed to eat had been incredibly tasty, but the very thought of food made her feel sick.

"Is My lady not hungry?" A voice rumbled beside her and she turned to find him watching her with a worried expression.

"Not very, I'm afraid" she answered carefully pushing her plate away

"It must be quite different to what you're used to in the north."

"It is. In the north its usually rabbit pie and the occasional roasted deer."

"And here it is usually duck sausage, fish or a roasted boar" he supplied, in an almost apologetic tone. She smiled softly

"I don't mind at all. I just am not very hungry."

He nodded thoughtfully and returned his gaze to the dancers, who were now dancing to a fairly mournful tone. It was strange to see people dance, as up in the North they were so far apart that there was rarely any cause to get together for a celebration, and after the war began there was even less of a reason. Throughout the feast, she and her husband discussed the differences in their up bringing. Her usually bringing something up that was new to her and him expressing surprise at her not knowing it. The south was warmer, lighter and more relaxed and it showed in the people that lived there. They were in the middle of a war yet they still managed to laugh and get rip roaring drunk. A fairly jolly tune was playing when her husband asked her to dance.

"I don't usually dance." She replied, a little self consciously "I'm afraid I'm not really very good at it."

"I'll let you in on a secret" he said, leaning closer to whisper in her ear "neither am I. But unfortunately for us both, none of them will go home or allow us to leave until we do."

A sudden fear gripped her heart. Was he wanting to leave? To bed her and ride off in the morning? The thought of the bedding terrified her. She'd listened to all the stories that the kitchen staff told while working over hot ovens. She'd over heard her Father's bannermen describing in great detail what they did in the brothels outside the castle walls. She didn't think she would be able to bear it, with a calm and peaceful facade.

"My lady?" He tried again and she looked up. "My apologies." She said, standing up and taking his hand. "Yes I would then love to dance with you."

He led her to the middle of the floor, where there were several whirling couples. The minstrels, seeing they were on the floor, ended the song they were playing and struck up a new tune, complete with lyrics.

 **A bear there was, a bear, a bear!**

 **All black and brown, and covered with hair!**

 **Oh, come, they said, oh come to the fair!**

 **The fair? Said he, but I'm a bear!**

 **All black, and brown, and covered with hair!**

To her great surprise, her husband seemed to be rather good at dancing, making her feel like a clumsy old maid. He smiled as she tried her hardest to keep up with him.

"My lady, you're thinking too much." He murmured close to her ear "just let me lead you."

She took a deep breath and looked up from her feet and into his eyes. He smiled again and led her through the dance. After a few more steps she started to relax which made it easier to keep up with him.

 **And down the road from here to there.**

 **From here! To there!**

 **Three boys, a goat, and a dancing bear!**

 **They danced and spun, all the way to the fair!**

 **Oh, sweet she was, and pure, and fair!**

 **The maid with honey,**

 **In her hair! Her hair!**

 **The maid with honey in her hair!**

"Much better" he said "my lady is almost a natural."

"Elsie" she answered and he raised an eyebrow. "All my family call me Elsie." She clarified "so it makes sense for you to as well."

"In that case you must call me Charles."

"Not Charlie?"

"Charlie is a name for a squire" Charles replied stiffly "Charles is what everyone calls me."

"Then Charles it is."

 **He smelled the scent on the summer air!**

 **The bear! The bear!**

 **All black and brown and covered with hair!**

 **He smelled the scent on the summer air!**

 **He sniffed and roared and smelled it there!**

 **Honey on the summer air!**

They fell silent after that, and continued to dance. Elsie watched the people around her and followed what they were doing. Charles was a very good leader, and the advise not to think had definitely helped. Unfortunately, it allowed her mind to wander off into what was still to come.

 **Oh, I'm a maid, and I'm pure and fair!**

 **I'll never dance with a hairy bear!**

 **A bear! A bear!**

 **I'll never dance with a hairy bear!**

 **He lifted her high into the air!**

 **The bear! The bear!**

The bedding ceremony was one that went back thousands of years, back to the first men and the children of the forest. Of course, times had changed a lot since then. Elsie was thankful she was not in the age of the first men, where a marriage would be consummated in front of the weirwood tree in the eyes of the gods, or even in later years when the bride and groom would be delivered to their room and all the wedding guests would gather outside to listen. No, tonight she would have her cloak removed, be stripped down to her small clothes and carried to their room. Thankfully, after that the guests would either return to the feast or make their way home. But even so, the thought of the entire ceremony still made her feel sick to her stomach.

 **I called for a knight, but you're a bear!**

 **A bear! A bear!**

 **All black and brown and covered with hair!**

 **She kicked and wailed, the maid so fair,**

 **But he licked the honey from her hair!**

 **Her hair! Her hair!**

The dance had now gotten so fast she could barely keep up, and even her husband was losing his breath. Everything was becoming a blur. Eventually she withdrew from his arms and gasped out

"Please can we stop?"

Charles nodded, and led her quietly back to their table, where they clapped along until the song came to a sudden stop.

 **Then she sighed and squealed and kicked the air!**

 **My bear! She sang. My bear so fair!**

 **And off they went, from here to there,**

 **The bear, the bear, and the maiden fair!**

"I'm sorry" Charles said quietly, handing her a glass of wine, which she gratefully accepted "I should have waited for a slower song."

"That's alright" she told him, after a long gulp from the glass "I wouldn't have accepted if I'd known it would be that fast. In the north it is sung at a much slower pace."

"It usually is here too, but I'm afraid the minstrels have had a little too much of my fathers ale."

Elsie laughed at that, feeling herself relax a little. Whether it was her laughter, the wine or his gentle smile she wasn't sure. But she began to think that perhaps the night wouldn't be so terrible after all. Her relaxation was short lived however, because the next moment a shout went up from one of the lower tables.

"I think that is time that our bride and groom get taken to bed!"

Elsie turned to see an elderly man stagger to a standing position. His hair stood up in every which way, and he had spilled gravy down his front. He picked up his tankard of ale and drained it in one go, before slamming onto the table in front of him. Elsie felt herself begin to shake as he leered at her.

"A sword needs a sheath!" He shouted, staggering his way up towards where she was seated. "And a wedding needs a bedding!"

All the guests began slamming their tankards onto the tables they we're seated at, creating a beat that matched her heart beating in her chest. She couldn't breath. Revulsion crept up her throat as the man lurched to a stop in front of her. She saw Tom's hand tighten on the knife in front of him, as the man stretched a hand out towards her cloak.

"No."

She turned her head slightly to find Charles glaring at the man in front of them

"No?" The man slurred "Lord Carson, I'm not sure you understand the bedding ceremony. You see, I take this lovely wife of yours-"

"No. There will be no bedding ceremony tonight. Or any night for that matter."

The man gaped at him for a few moments, his filthy teeth looking more yellow than ever in the candle light.

"There can't be a wedding without a bedding." The man argued, and reached to grab her cloak once more.

"Touch her" Charles growled, standing up. "and I will break your jaw."

The man took a step back from them when faced with Charles' height, and fell off the dias. Elsie imagined the she too would have fallen backwards at her husbands expression. He looked terrifying, with a great sword strapped to his side and a glare on his face. His expression softened however, when he turned to face her.

"Come My lady" he said softly, offering her his hand, which she took, allowing him to pull her to her feet. Together, they then walked across the floor to the stone steps leading to the private part of the castle, leaving a stunned wedding party behind them.

 **Please review and let me know your thoughts.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you again for all your love and support. My apologies (again) for the delay in updating. I have had a week from hell as my mother likes to say.**

It was strange being married. Strange having a woman in his room that was not a servant. It was strange not being in his own room above the library, but rather in one of the main ones in the castle. He missed his old one. It had been small, with just his bed and desk inside. This one had a bathing area, a large bed and a dining area. Charles had almost taken her too the wrong room and had ended up dragging her through the armory, where hundreds of swords, daggers and throwing hammers lined the walls. He imagined it was rather a scary sight, for a innocent highborn lady.

Now, they were sitting on the balcony outside their wedding chambers, each with a glass of water. She had meekly followed him out of the wedding feast, hand in his while he had stormed off, on his grand tour of the castle. When he got to their chambers she was red faced and he was breathing heavily. He had taken one look at the large white bed, thrown his cloak onto the desk and had flung open the doors to the balcony. Now they sat in silence, looking over the godswood, each lost in their own thoughts. Occasionally stealing glances at one another, when they thought the other one wasn't looking.

Charles knew his father would not be happy with the way he had behaved at the feast. He had gone against one of the oldest traditions, and insulted quite a few southern lords in the process. Many came to a wedding for the bedding ceremony, and he had simply done away with it. Which was exceptionally odd as Charles was the man who breathed tradition. He had read every history book or scroll he'd been able to get his hands on. He could tell you all about the children of the forest, the first men and every King that had ever sat on the throne. Offending some of the minor Riverlands Lords might not seem like a great offensive, but combined their men made up a quarter of his father's army. An army that now belonged to him. He only hoped that he hadn't lost them the war before it had even started.

"Why did you do that?" Elsie suddenly asked, her northern accent much more pronounced in the quiet of the night. It was a very good question, one that he himself couldn't answer exactly. Gods alone knew why he had done away with the bedding. Most men would have fallen on their swords for a chance to bed the eldest daughter of the north, and the bedding would have been a chance to strut like a gander, that no other man would be getting her. But watching her tremble as that man had reached for her cloak had pulled on his heart, and had made him incredibly angry, a feeling Charles had rarely experienced. Charles was a reader, a man who stayed out of everyone's way and spent most of his life feeding ravens or studying. The promise of war had him feeling uneasy, yet that man had made him feel like he could break rocks.

"I didn't like the way he was looking at you." He replied "no highborn lady should be subjected to that."

"But yet every highborn lady is." She answered, sipping her water.

"I know." He answered gravely "and I've attended many weddings before and the bedding has never bothered me. But with you..."

She didn't answer, merely tilted her head and watched him with a thoughtful expression

"With you its different" he finished lamely.

"I've always been raised as a lady." She mused, swirling the water in her glass "I always knew that my station was higher than all the other lasses at winterfell. I always pitied them, even though it shames me to say it. They didn't get the sewing lessons, the riding lessons the lemon cakes after supper. They didn't get to read about dragons or go to tourneys. They spent their lives making bread, cleaning the castle, scrubbing pots or looking after my sister. But one day, my best friend told me that she was in love and was going to be marrying the armorers son. I scoffed at her. I was to one day marry a Lord and be the Lady of his castle. He would love me and I him, and I would give him many sons. She would remain and smith's wife, working in the castle to earn a little extra coin. Later that day, I was called to my fathers chambers, where I was told that I would be marrying Sir Robert, heir to the Riverlands. For the first time I felt jealous of a servant girl. She got to marry for love, in front of the weirwood tree before allowing her husband to take her home. I was to marry for power and have to undergo the elaborate feast and the bedding ceremony."

"I'm sorry" Charles said softly

"Don't be." She answered "you saved me from the bedding. So with you, its different. Someday, I hope we shall at very least grow fond of one another."

He watched her carefully for a while. She was so dainty, so perfect. She deserved to have a proper Lord, one who was born into the title instead of one who had no idea how to fight a war, much less win one.

"But it still should have been Robert." He said "instead you get stuck with second best, so I'm sorry for that as well."

"Tell me about him." She said, stretching out her legs before tucking them under her again. Charles was amazed at the elegant way she did everything, without trying, but still looking every bit a lady.

"Robert?" He asked before continuing at her nod "Robert was the one everyone loved. He was the best at everything he put his hand to. He won every tourney from here to the south before the war. He could beat our master of swords by the time he was fourteen. He could charm people into doing whatever he wanted. The cooks would always give him less vegetables and more cake. He was strong and handsome. A true warrior."

Charles hated him self for the envy that seeped out in his tone. He didn't want to be Robert. He liked his quiet life. But now he was being forced into Roberts position and was failing miserably at it.

"And woman?"

"All the woman loved him. When we had dances, they would huddle around him, hoping to be picked to dance. They would giggle as they walked past. Most of them only spoke to me, hoping to get closer to him."

"Then I don't think I got the second best." She said standing up and gently stroking his cheek. "I don't want the man that everyone else has had."

Elsie leant down and gently kissed his cheek, before turning and vanishing back inside their chambers. It took Charles a few more moments to follow her.

 **Please review and let me know what you think. If you have any questions don't hesitate to ask.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you again for all your reviews. They seriously keep me going round the bend.**

Elsie stood in the middle of the great hall watching the bustle of the castle around her. The sun had barely risen, the very edge of it inching up above the river, turning the castle a very pleasant shade of orange. Inside, the harths were still all lit, and many servants ran around insuring they remained so. There was the general rumble of many people talking, with the occasional shout that echoed around the hall until it blended in with the rest of the hum. Orders were being barked left right and center. Men were carrying the last of the supplies away from the castle and into carts that were being pulled by large drought horses. Food, weapons, armor, ravens, anything that they might need over the next six months to stay alive. Steel sung as the armorer did last minute repairs, hammering away at heated metal, followed by the hiss of steam as it was rapidly cooled. Horses were neighing and stamping their hooves as they were brought from the stables and saddled up. Everyone was moving from one destination to another, intent on the work that still needed to be done. Everyone except for her.

She had woken in the early hours of the morning drenched in sweat and completely alone. When she rose, she discovered a plate of lemon cakes on the table and a brooch in the shape of the leaping trout. His sigil. But when she picked it up later to put it on her dress, she discovered that there was a tiny little wolf standing under the fish's tail. Her sigil. She had smiled, and pinned it proudly to her chest before coming down to do her duty as Lady of Riverrun, but as she had only been here a day, she barely knew where she stood, much less where anything else might be. Yesterday had been such a blur, being dragged off to be bathed and dressed then taken to the godswood to be married. After the feast when Charles had stormed off she barely had a moment to breath, much less take note of where she was going. She had made up her mind to head down to the kitchens to see if she might be of use down there and had turned to head towards the stairs when she hit a warm and solid wall. Strong hands wrapped around her upper arms to steady her and she looked up to discover that she had walked straight into her husband.

"My lady!" Charles said in a tone of surprise, "I didn't expect you to be up so early. I hope the noise didn't wake you?"

"Not at all, just a natural early riser. My father used to get very angry with me because I would go out riding before he woke up."

"I imagine I would be vexed with you as well." Charles said thoughtfully, before glancing down at her chest "I see you found my gift."

"I did" she said fingering it lightly "its beautiful. Thank you."

"The fish was my mothers." He supplied "I had William add the wolf for you, after I met you yesterday."

"He's very talented." Elsie remarked, peering down at the tiny wolf "and the fish is beautiful."

Charles beamed at her, and she blushed slightly. He looked tired, but happy. She only wished he wasn't dressed for war.

"When do you leave?" She asked quietly

"In about an hour. Would you join me for breakfast in the mean time?"

"I would love to."

EHCC

He didn't want to go to war. The thought of going out to kill people made him turn cold inside. Even when those people were trying to kill him. His sword had been polished several times and sharpened several times more. He was dressed in a leather vest, steel breast place and strong boots. His red and blue cloak hung from his shoulders, held on by silver leaping trouts. Family, Duty, Honor. Those were his family words. The words he was supposed to live by. But family was confusing. He was leaving his new wife alone in a castle she barely knew, to go to war with his father. Both were his family and yet he had to choose. He was doing his duty though by joining his men and going to war, but at the same time he was fighting against the crown. Wasn't it every Lord's duty to stay loyal to the crown and defend it when it was threatened? Honor. The only way he was to get honor was to win a war that he didn't want to fight.

He watched her, sitting opposite him, daintily eating her breakfast. She had poured him a glass of milk, which had surprised him. He wasn't used to others doing things like that for him and he wasn't sure how to respond. In the end he blushed and thanked her. She had rewarded him with the most beautiful smile he had ever seen.

It wasn't fair that he had to leave, when he only just gotten married. Most men were given a week at very least.

What would happen to her if he was killed? Their marriage was never consummated. She would not be producing an heir to the family fortune. It would all fall to Thomas, and gods only knew what he would do. Thomas was his brother, and he loved him like all brothers do. But Charles was often at a loss when it came to Thomas. He only hoped that if something did happen to him that Thomas would be good to her.

"My Lord?"

Charles turned to find his squire a young lad called Alfred standing in the door way.

"Yes?"

"They're waiting for you."

Charles nodded, wiped his mouth and stood up. He turned to Elsie to say goodbye only to find that she too had pushed away her food and left her seat.

"I'll walk down with you." She said, pushing a stay strand of her away from her face. Charles gave her a terse nod, and followed Alfred down the stairs back into the great hall and into the courtyard outside. Another squire, Jimmy, stood holding his war horse. Alfred handed him his gloves and he pulled them on. He turned to say goodbye to his wife, only to find that she had taken her place next to Thomas behind him.

"I'm going to say goodbye to Father" Thomas said stiffly. Charles nodded and he walked off.

"I wish you the very best of luck." Elsie said before he could say anything "may the gods be with you."

"Thank you. I'm sorry that I couldn't stay with you."

"The war must come first." She answered lightly

"Family, Duty, Honor. Those are my words. You are my family. You should come first" Charles replied, taking her hand.

"Then fight for me." She answered.

"I will." Charles said, before bending at lightly kissing her. He then walked away and climbed onto his horse. A shout went up from all the men, the gates were opened and the first troop of men started riding forward. He had just kicked his horse into following them when she called out

"Charles!" He turned back towards her, to find her rushing towards him. She placed one hand on his knee

"Promise me you'll come back."

"I promise." He replied, squeezing her hand, before following his father out of the gate.


	7. Chapter 7

**A quick shout out to those who have ever been made to feel under appreciated, or below average. You guys are the most special people of all. Don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise!**

 **To my obsessive writing guinea pig, Viva and my best friend and therapist Jax. You guys are the best.**

 **Six months later**

Charles really hated living in a tent. His back hurt, he hadn't slept properly in months and he wondered if he would ever feel properly dry again. Six months of war had taken its toll on him. Being a lord he had a very nice tent, complete with a small writing desk and lots of cushions. But every night the rain would thunder down onto the canvas roof, pooling outside in muddy lakes until it was all Charles could do not to saddle his horse and slip away in the dead of night. Yet, every morning he was still there. Cold, wet and miserable. But still there. He missed his home, missed his library and perhaps the greatest surprise to him was that he missed his wife.

He wondered how she was fairing, whether she had settled in at his home. Was Thomas treating her well? Was she happy? He had had a few letters from her over the last few months, but often their riders were ambushed and their ravens were shot down, so often the letters were weeks old by the time he received them. He treasured each one though, kept them locked in a box that was with him most of the time. Each one so well handled that the edges had gone soft and curled. Every letter started with "My dearest Charles" and ended with "Love Elsie." Each was filled with news from home, what new nook or cranny she had found, babies that had been born of guests that stopped to spend a night before riding on to join him at war. He replied to each one in the most cheerful way he could, but how many of them reached her, he wasn't sure.

He wondered how much longer they would be at war, how much longer he would be in constant fear.

They had been at it for months now, battle after battle, some won some lost. Ground gained and surrendered again. The crown was refusing to meet them in battle, choosing to send several of the Southern lords to meet them instead. Tiring them out for an easy victory. Thousands would never return home and would be buried in an unmarked grave somewhere in a forest or next to a river for all eternity. Many would return home alive, but badly injured. For most, life would never be as it once was. For Charles, most of all.

Tonight, however had been better than most. The rain had finally ceased if only for a few hours and the men had a bonfire going with a pig on the spit. Ale was flowing merrily and men had had their tongues loosened by the many cups they had drunk.

"That bloody Wellington is putting it round that he took down five Southern Bastards yesterday. Stole my bloody glory!"

"Oh shut up Bostel, everyone knows that you went face down in the mud and stayed there till the battle was over."

"Druel, you better watch your words..."

A fist fight broke out between the two men, and Charles took a swig of ale before shouting

"Enough! We're here to fight the crown, not take out each other."

The men broke off their brawl and turned to face him. As the firelight illuminated their faces Charles realized that one of them was the son of the revolting man at his wedding. Despite his father's untidiness, this young man was well dressed and relatively free of mud. The only resemblence was the crooked teeth and the mean eyes

"So what about you my Lord?" He asked "any boasts from the battle field? A strapping man like you must have cut down a hundred men at least!"

Charles hadn't really thought about it. He had certainly injured quite a few men, whether he had killed them he wasn't sure. He had never gone back to check, didn't really want to think about it. He was sure that Elsie wouldn't want a killer for a husband, however in war it was kill or be killed. That didn't mean he had to be proud of it.

"I," Charles said, staring morbidly into his cup "just miss my wife."

"You only had her for one night!" Druel exclaimed, grinning as his buddies laughed "She must have been very memorable. Go on then, tell us what she's like. There's a brothel down in the village we just passed, I'm sure they've got a northern girl you can bed for the night."

"Druel, I believe Bostel has already told you to watch your words. Take heed of his advise." A surge of anger ran through him as the man, took a swig, spat some of it on the ground and sneered

"Or what?"

Charles stood up and slowly made he way over to the man until he towered above him.

"Or I will have my men tie you to a stake and I will skin you. One piece at a time. Until there is nothing left on your body."

It was so unlike him to threaten someone. He was a peaceful man, and violent thoughts rarely crossed his mind. Yet when it came to her, something inside him seemed to snap. Druel had clearly had far too much to drink, because he swaggered even closer to Charles and said

"Bloody hell, she really has you under her thumb don't she? I hope to one day find out what's under her skirts. I suspect I won't have to wait long. She's probably bedded half the castle by now. While the husbands at war the wife shall play."

A voice whispered in the back of his mind to walk away, that if he started a row with his own men, he became that much more vulnerable in the battle field. He had just turned to go when he saw Druel exchange a cocky look with his friends. Without even realizing what he was doing, Charles had swung the first punch and was down doing his best to hammer him into the ground. A hand wrapped around the scruff of his neck and hauled him off the man. Breathing heavily, he turned to face his father.

"Follow me." Lord Carson growled and stalked off, leaving Charles to follow.

"Have you completely lost your mind?!" His father exploded once they got to his tent. It was bigger than Charles' but somehow less homely.

"We never fight those on our own side, Charles, first rule of battle. Especially a Lord fighting a man of low birth."

"He's not of low birth, he's Lord Braxton's son."

"He's a bastard child, Charles, you don't get lower than that. You better pray to the gods that when we meet the King in battle tomorrow that he is still under your command. I will not lose this battle because of a drunken brawl."

Charles blinked at him in surprise. How were they supposed meet the King in battle when last he heard the King was still on the throne many leagues from them.

"What?" He asked, sitting down hard on the nearest chair.

"The King, Charles" his father repeated. "He rode from Kingslanding a week ago. Only one of our spies managed to get back to us alive. We meet on the field tomorrow."

If the king was meeting them in battle tomorrow that meant that this would soon be over. Soon he would be able to return home, to his books, to his bed, to his wife. Would she be waiting for him? Would she be glad to have him home? Of course first he had to get home. He had to survive that battle.

"I suggest you sort out your dispute with Druel." His father said stiffly "because tomorrow, its do or die."

 **Once again, I find myself shamelessly begging for reviews. And to those of you wondering if I'll kill Charles...I couldn't possibly say.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Thank you all so much for your reviews. My life is seriously on a rollarcoaster at the moment, so I apologize for the delay for an update.**

Elsie had always loved exploring. When she was a young lass she was the one who knew all the hidden tunnels leading out of Winterfell, all the secret doorways, alcoves and all the tiny little cupboards. It had taken her father hours to find her as a five year old, when the screams of her mother had finally given way to the awful silence. Some how Elsie had known that something terrible had happened. She didn't know what and she didn't know why. She knew it was something bad, and so she had hidden away, to scared to find out the truth. By the time her father had found her hiding place, it was the middle of the night and his eyes were red from tears. He had gently taken her hand, pulled her out of the dusty cupboard and told her to come and meet her new sister. It had taken her little sister, Becky, years to learn only half of Elsie's hiding places and most of them only because Elsie had shared them with her. Countless secrets were told in the alcove behind the armory, thousands of laughs shared exploring the secret tunnels and many screams from Becky when she saw a rat.

In a way, it was a good thing Elsie had always been curious about new surroundings. With her Husband away at war, Elsie had months to explore her new home. She knew there was a secret door from behind one of the fireplaces that led into the kitchen. She knew there was a one of the stones in her chambers lifted and led to a passage way. She knew of all the tunnels that led to the castle walls. She had spent hours exploring the armory, admiring the many weapons with glittering handles made of rare rock or bone. They had taken most of the weaponry with them so there wasn't much left, but what was left was still dangerous despite its beauty. Elsie had spent an afternoon exploring the kitchens much to the horror of the cook Mrs Bird and her serving girl Beryl.

She had explored the godswood in its entirety and had spent many hours under the weirwood tree praying for her fathers men and her husbands safe return. He had to return. He wasn't allowed to leave her. When ever Elsie wrote to him, she told him of her adventures in the castle, what guests had stayed the night and what babies had been born in the little village that surrounded their castle. She wrote how poor Maester Clark was so tired that he fell asleep in the great hall more often than not, or how she had made friends with Beryl, the serving girl. She didn't tell him how the guests gave her disdainful looks because she didn't appear to be producing a heir anytime soon. She didn't tell him that one young girl hadn't wanted her to visit the new child, believing that Elsie carried bad luck because her first betrothed was dead and her second fighting for his life. She didn't tell him that the old maids around the castle would watch her struggling to be Lady of a house she barely knew and would shake their heads and cluck whenever she got it wrong.

She missed him, if it was possible to miss someone you barely knew. She needed his support, his guidance and dare she say it his love. Thomas was no help at all, usually leaving long before the sun came up and coming home a day or so later. She felt for the poor boy, it can't have been easy to be left at home with the old, injured and weak. It wasn't until the day she was exploring the library, searching for something to read at night when she discovered that Thomas had bigger problems.

A large tapestry of a forest hung in the library. Elsie had often wondered about it, because as beautiful as it was it had always seemed so out of place in a room that was filled with history and love. The library at winterfell had had several paintings depicting famous war scenes, or lovers being reunited. On this particular day, she decided that to investigate. She pulled the tapestry back and was not in the least surprised to discover a small door. When opened, she found a narrow set of stone steps leading upwards, and in her usual style Elsie had no choice but to climb them. After a few twists and turns she found two doors. She opened the one on the left and found herself in a neat little bedroom. Instantly she knew it was his. The small bed, meticulously made up in the family colours, the writing desk which was laden with books, all in neat piles with two quills lying next to one another in neat lines. There wasn't much decoration in the room, just a light curtain pinned over the window and tiny wooden knight on the desk. The room smelled like him, the same mixture of ink, parchment and spice.

Elsie crossed the room and lay down on his bed with her eyes closed and breathed it all in. It was so quiet here, so very peaceful. This was his place where he felt safest. How awful war must be for him, being forced into violence when all he wanted was a peaceful home. She wondered if he ever thought of her. She got his letters, but he never mentioned what he was going through. He ended them "Love Charles" but she wondered if he kept things back the same way she did. She thought about his scowl that could easily be replaced with a gentle smile, how his large hands were so delicate when he touched her and how when he laughed, he could fill the great hall with melodious chuckles. Suddenly, a noise came from the other side of the wall

Thump

Thump

Thump

Followed by a groan. Elsie opened her eyes and listened, before getting up and heading back to the staircase. The noise seemed to be coming from the door on the right.

She debated whether she should open it. Elsie herself might not a woman bedded, but she had heard enough and seen enough to know what was happening on the other side of the door. The real questions was, what was she supposed to do about it. Really, it wasn't her business. But again, as lady as the house she couldn't have bastards being made in her own castle. The disgrace would be unbearable. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door and quickly averted her eyes as it hit the wall with a bang.

"Bloody hell!" Thomas yelled, rolling off the bed he was on and taking a sheet to cover him. Hoping that his partner had done the same Elsie slowly turned back to the room and was most surprised to find a man cowering under a throw instead of a woman. The boy in question was one of the young lads belonging to one of the farmers. Also too young to go to war, he had stayed at the castle as a squire to Thomas.

"Its not what you think!" Thomas said loudly, trying to find his shirt "we were just-"

"I know exactly what you were doing!" Elsie said in a slightly horrified tone. "I might not have much experience in the ways of the world but I don't live in a sack. Thomas, what on earth would your father say?"

She quickly averted her gaze again as Thomas stood up in all his glory. He quickly pulled his clothes on before grabbing her arm and growling

"You cannot tell him."

"I have to" she answered "how can I keep such a secret. You're going against the gods Thomas."

"You can not. He'll throw me out. I'll be the shame on the family. Please."

Elsie stared hard at his hand until he let her go, and took a step back. The young squire had since got dressed and pushed past her out of the room. They both watched him go, before turning back to face one another. The next thing she knew Thomas had pulled her inside the room and slammed the door closed behind them.

"Lady Elsbeth, I know I haven't befriended you in the last couple of months, but no one can know about this. I am begging you not to tell Charles or my father."

She watched him stride up and down, running shaking fingers through his hair. The poor boy was clearly terrified of what might happen

"Thomas, what will happen if you get married?" She asked quietly

"I won't be getting married." He replied shortly

"But if Charles is killed-"

"I'm sorry, but I won't be getting married." Thomas said turning to face her "I can't marry anyone Elsbeth, I just can't. I'm sorry."

Thomas pushed past her and opened the door.

"Why not?" She asked, before he could disappear down the stairs. He paused and ran his fingers through his hair before turning back towards her with a heart broken expression.

"Because I love him."

 **I'll confess, I'm not totally happy with it. But I figured you'd waited long enough for an update.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Just finished watching the first episode. Skip over the rest of this note to avoid possible spoilers. Mrs Patmore is seriously the best friend either of them could have. And that last scene? Oh my fangirl heart.**

Every young boy in all of Downton had practiced being a soldier since a very young age. Most had practiced sword fighting with friends, using bits of branches from trees and spending hours playing by the riverside, laughing as they were knocked into the mud and making wagers on who would beat who. Archery was practiced on weekends, when the hunting parties went out and boys from as young as ten went along with them. Their fathers taught them the secrets of the trade, from making the bow, to how taunt to pull the string before letting it go and watching the arrow fly. There was never a greater feeling than the first time you got it right and made your father proud. Young boys learnt how to swing hammers while fixing things around their cottages and learnt the art of using a knife from their mothers in the kitchen.

Boys like Charles, who had grown up in a castle had had a master of arms from a young age, who taught them how to handle a great sword, how to joust and somehow do it all in a lordly manner.

They didn't tell you how different war really was. People died in war, instead of merely bruise. There wasn't time for a glass of water, or the promise of a large bowl of stew that night. If things got rough no one stepped in to stop it. Most importantly, no one seemed to play by the rules and if your opponent fought dirty, it left you with little choice but to do so as well.

To say Charles was scared was an understatement. The urge to run grew stronger with every passing second.

Charles knew that every man on this field felt the same way, felt the fear crawl up their throats felt the sweat pool in their palms. He knew a lot of his men had spent the night in the brothel in the nearest village, living while they still could. Many had asked him to come with them, he too was a young man, but he declined. He was married, and he had no interest in the delights of a desperate woman. He had spent the night staring up at the canvas roof of his tent and wishing he was home. When he eventually fell asleep it felt like no time had passed at all until he was woken by his men. He had lingered over breakfast and delayed in putting his armor on until the very last moment. But now here they were, all dressed and seated on their horses just waiting for the battle to begin.

His men had returned looking slightly less anxious and for that he was grateful. However as they fell into rank, he knew the tension was rising.

He had taken his fathers advise and apologized to Druel who seemed to take the apology well. Never the less, Charles had stationed him well away from him. On his left stood William, a young lad, who was gentle and brave. At home he had worked in the stables and the boy had a magic touch with horses. But war had taken them all and now here he sat in armor with a sword in his hand. Further down the line was his father, looking very regal upon his war horse. His cape flowed around his shoulders and his great sword in his hand and ready to strike. Tom Branson rode next to him. Keeping his silence but watching everything. He didn't know Tom very well, as he moved with the Northern men. But he knew that Elsie trusted him and therefore he did as well. As far as wars went, he knew he was a as safe as he could be. A thundering of hooves followed by war cries met their ears and Charles knew it was only moments before the battle would begin. He sent up a quick prayer to the gods just before the King and his army surged past the edge of the forest

"Then fight for me" he heard her say in his ear and he lifted his sword and rode out to meet them.

EHCC

The most impressive thing about a battle was the noise. Most of the time he blocked it out, choosing instead to focus on staying alive. But when ever he got a moment to take a breath it all came flooding back. The clang of swords crashing together again and again, the beat of horses hooves as they moved through the fighting. War cries were shouted and answered by the men giving them all a new drop of courage. Then the screams. The screams of men as they dies and fell to the ground, only to be trampled by hundreds of feet, who were also trying to stay alive. It was impossible to say who was winning.

He had lost sight of his father after his horse went down and he was forced to fight on foot. Tom Branson was still next to him and they worked off one another, watching each others backs. Charles had the oddest of feelings that she had asked him too, but the thought did not irk him. In fact, he was touched that she had thought of it. Many men were now opting to fight on foot. The stench of blood sweat and tears made the horses jumpy and unreliable. Charles could understand why. It was the smell of fear.

His arm hurt from the amount of times he had swung his sword. Although it was a lighter one than what his father preferred it still grew tiresome. Attack. Block. Dodge. Parry. Move on to the next one and repeat. A large man loomed up behind him, war hammer lifted. Tom yelled a warning and Charles twisted in time to move. He sliced the mans leg and moved on, leaving him there screaming in agony. The next was a young man, barely out of boyhood. Charles felt the guilt pool in his stomach as he shoved the boy out of his way with the butt of his sword. He had tried to spare him, but there were a thousand other soldiers fighting and not many others would be so kind to spare him. After that they all became a blur. He saw many die, saw many get injured. He watched as one or two of the younger lads ran for their lives. He couldn't blame them, the gods only knew what was keeping him there. He cried out as he watched William fall and instantly took down the man that had killed him. He had a cut on his arm and another on his cheek and he could feel the blood pooling around his chin. He ignored it and continued to fight, on and on more and more and more. Arrows were flying over his head, many finding their mark in both his and enemy men. Sickening crunches filled the air as armor and sometimes bone took the brunt of war hammers. There was hisses as some of their camp was set alight in an effort to distract them and cry of alarm when the dogs were set free. Then all of a sudden Charles spotted his father in front of him, matching the King strike for strike, both of them intent on killing the other. His fathers cloak had been lost and he was covered in mud. But he was still fighting well while the king was not. He was tiring fast, his sword too heavy. He had blood dripping into one eye and he was unsteady on his feet. All of a sudden it looked as though they might win the battle, that the war might be over. He would be able to go home. To sit by the fireside and read. To go hunting and chat with the young lads round the castle. To go back to his bed and curl up with her, like he would never let her go again. He would be able to go home to her, to his wife, to his Elsie. Tom gave a cry and too late Charles saw the sword glint in the sunlight as it flashed through the air. He tried to move, but he knew there was nothing he could do as the sword struck home.

 **"And so he spoke, and so he spoke that Lord of Castamere, and now the rains weep o'er his hall and no ones there to hear..."**

 **I have never ever written a war scene before so I am begging for reviews. You guys are the best! Okay, imma go hide under a rock now.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Thank you all for your amazing reviews. You guys are the best!**

Elsie had always been one who believed in feelings. If she had a good feeling about something it usually turned out alright, but when she had a bad one, nothing good ever came from it. She had learnt over the years to trust her feelings, and the few times over the years when she had ignored them had always turned out disastrous. Like when she had first met Joe, there had been something off colour about him, but the rest of the castle adored him and he adored her so she ignored it. It would have saved her a lot of heart break if she had listened to herself in the first place, instead of befriending him, telling him her secrets and then having to watch as he challenged her father to a duel for her hand in marriage. She had begged her father to let him live, but he kept coming back with another strike again and again, until her father had cut him so badly he wasn't able to get up again. She was never allowed to visit him while he recovered and he rode home a week before she left to come here.

She had been waking up the last few weeks with the most awful feeling of dread in her stomach, and somehow she had known that the battle did not go well, but yet, it was still the hardest shock to her system she had ever had when Thomas told her the news. She had been trying to find Maester Clark to tell him that Mr Mason, one of the farmers, wished to ask him about a remedy for his wife, when she heard the most heart wrenching sobs. After investigating she found Thomas hiding in the armory, curled up into a ball.

"Thomas?" She asked, stepping closer and laying a hand on his shoulder. He flinched and looked up at her with red rimmed eyes. "What on earth is the matter?"

"Maester Clark hasn't told you then has he?" Thomas asked, his voice rough from sobbing

"Told me what?" Elsie asked "I've been trying to find him for the last half hour."

"He spoke to me about an hour ago" Thomas supplied "there was a Raven from the south."

With that Thomas dissolved into tears again. Elsie sat down next to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. A raven from the South could only be news from the battle and judging by Thomas's reaction it was not good. The bad feeling in her stomach intensified

"Tell me." She said as calmly as possible and waited patiently while he struggled to regain control.

"Charles was killed. The King put a sword through his heart." Thomas said, handing Elsie the tiny rolled up scroll and Elsie felt her blood run cold. She opened it with trembling hands and scanned what it said. It consisted of three sentences.

 **Battle won. Lord Carson killed by King. Painswick has taken throne.**

She carefully rolled it back up and held it between her two hands

"It said Lord Carson, could that not mean your father?"

Thomas shook his head

"He promised me that he wouldn't fight. Besides, Charles was supposed to take the Throne. If Lord Painswick has it, it means Charles didn't survive."

Elsie closed her eyes and leant back against the wall. He had promised her that he would be coming home, promised her that they would make this marriage work. He couldn't leave her now, not when she was falling in love with him. She knew wars took lives, knew that there was always going to be a chance of him not returning but nothing could have prepared her for hearing that he would not. Would they bring his body home so she could say goodbye? Or would he become another unmarked grave in somewhere under a tree? Did he think of her when he died? Was it quick or did he die in agony? The thoughts that whirled around her head were almost too much to bear. She felt the tears prick behind her eyes, and a sob whell up in her throat but she refused to break. She had to be strong for Thomas. She looked over at the poor boy, who had now picked up a knife from the display and was playing with it. She could see that he was doing his best to hold it together for her. There had been talk that she would marry Thomas if Charles was killed but how could she? He was only a boy, barely old enough to drink, nevermind be married to a woman. She also knew that his heart belonged to another, and while the gods may frown on such a relationship she had seen the look of devotion in his eyes. How could she possibly rob him of that?

"So what happens now?" She asked, once she trusted herself to speak.

"Now I do something that will both shock and disgust you." Thomas replied heavily, getting to his feet and sliding the knife into his belt. "I will run."

"Run?" She repeated, also getting to her feet "where to?"

"The Wall." He answered grimly and she drew in a sharp breath. The wall was as far north as Downton went. It was built centuries ago by Brandon the builder. It was made entirely out of ice, stood seven hundred feet tall and covered the Northern border of Downton. It had been built to keep direwolves, wildings, and white walkers out of the realms of men and was manned by the men of the Nights Watch. The men dedicated their lives to the protection of the realm. They were never allowed to leave the service of the wall, never allowed to marry or own a title. They lived and died at their post.

"The wall." She repeated softly "Thomas-"

"I cannot stay here, Lady Elsbeth." He cut her off, his voice sharp and slightly panicked "I cannot be Lord of Riverrun. I cannot win a war that neither of my brothers could. I cannot marry you."

"I know that" Elsie said gently "but why the Wall? You have never been North you don't know what its like. The harshness of the winter cannot be put into words, and the rangings beyond the wall are dangerous. Most men do not return."

"If I go anywhere else they can find me" Thomas explained "they can force me to come home and do my duty. If I go to the wall, say their oath, I forfeit all that."

"What about your lover?" Elsie asked once he had stopped to draw breath "have you considered him at all in your rash decision?"

"Jimmy is not my lover" he replied shortly, not meeting her eyes "he got married to the butchers daughter a week ago."

Elsie felt her heart go out to the broken young man, who making such a lifelong decision when his world had been shattered.

"Don't look at me like that." He said gently "Even if he hadn't been killed I would have done this. No wife deserves me for a husband."

With that, Thomas pulled himself to his full height, buckled his sword around his waist and swung a black cloak around his shoulders. He paused then and look at her, the question he longed to ask etched on his face. Elsie gave him a small nod, which he returned, and then he was gone. It was only then that she allowed her grief to overwhelm her and let the sobs overtake her. She sank to the floor and cried for the men that had lost their lives, the families that would never be whole again and the children that would grow up never knowing how brave their fathers were. But most of all she cried for him. Cried for his kind heart, the gentleness that he had shown towards her and his quiet thoughtful ways. She cried for his lopsided smile, the crinkles round his eyes and the hazel shade that got darker when he was angry. She cried until her throat hurt and her tears dried up, until she was left on the ground sobbing, with just a few tears running down her cheeks. She allowed the few memories she had of him to flood her thoughts until she could barely breath. It was only hours later when Maester Clark found her and carried her to her room that she remembered poor Mr Mason, whom she had left in the great hall, and by that time she was too drained to care. Maester Clark gently helped her sip tea from a mug, before covering her with a quilt and letting her sleep until morning.

 **Don't kill me. Trust me. I know what I'm doing. 65% of the time. Anyway...**


	11. Chapter 11

**Bit of a shorter chapter than usual, my apologies. Its hot here. I don't like it. Anyone wanna come to Africa and I'll take cold England? No? Okay then.**

Tom Branson was a very humble man. Of course, he came from a very humble background. Tom had been born on the outskirts of Winterfell, in a tiny one roomed cottage. His father was a stable boy, his mother a girl from one of the brothels in his village. From the very start Tom was destined to become a beggar on the streets of Winterfell or at very least a wood chopper. Instead, he had been taken one day to the castle to help his father clean tack and had started playing swords with Joe Burns, Lord Hughes' ward. The boy had been short and strong and had had years of practice with the Master of arms at the castle, but Tom met him strike for strike, parry for parry with hardly any effort at all. By the time they had finished he had been puffing and panting, while Tom was merely a little bit sweaty. As fate would have it, Lord Hughes himself had been watching that particular day, and had been impressed with Tom's skill with a sword. He insisted that Tom be allowed to practice with the Maester of arms and in return he would do odd jobs for the household. Tom had kept his head down and worked hard and when Tom was old enough, Lord Hughes made him part of his army. Tom quickly rose through the ranks and in time he became the Captain of Lord Hughes' household guards. He got to know Lord Hughes very well, became a confidant and friend to the man. He knew that he did not fully trust his ward, or that he missed his wife more every day. He knew that he worried that he was placing too much on the shoulders of his eldest daughter and he knew that Lord Hughes had every intention of leaving his title to him. Joe Burns had been livid. Tom had been the one to drag him away from Lord Hughes, when he challenged him to a duel for Elsie's hand and it had been Tom who had delivered her to the South to be wed.

Elsie was like an older sister to him, had always mothered him, stopped Joe from bullying him and had helped him with his chores when ever she could. When her mother died, she had become a very young lady of the house, her father never having remarried. He had seen her pull off dinners and dances, seen her argue with the Maester over Becky and seen her love and care for everyone in her castle. So he knew that back at Riverrun organizing a funeral would be relatively easy for her, even though all the customs were different. Still, Thomas would be able to help her and the funeral would be something to behold.

Still, he felt a twinge of pity for her. The death of Lord Carson would change everything, especially now with the Painswicks on the throne, and for the first time, Tom would not be able to help her through it. He was to return to Riverrun and attend the funeral on behalf of Lord Hughes, but as soon at it was over he would be returning home.

He looked at the man next to him, and wondered what it must be like to have to take a family member home. As usual, the man next to him did not smile, not that Tom could blame him, or talk. Instead he kept his eyes fixed on the wagon in front of him, riding behind it at an easy pace.

The wagon in front of him was decked out in the Carson's family colours, silver, red and blue. On the Shroud that covered the body the family words were embroidered on. Family, Duty, Honor. What terribly confusing words those were. Tom understood the basic principle of it, family comes first. But family was a complex thing. Tom looked over again at the man next to him, his silence almost eerie before returning his gaze to the wagon. His father had wanted him to go to war, his wife had not. Both were family. When a son was born you pledged your life to him, to teach him, to love him to keep him safe. But when one got married, you pledged that you were hers and she was yours. You belong to both of them, which way do you choose? Tom supposed you chose the way that was all three. Family, Duty and Honor. In other words you went to war. But one might also lose your family along the way.

As they approached the gates to Riverrun, Tom reflected on how things could change in the middle of a war. The gates had less men around them, most of which had followed their Lord to war, and the ones that were there were young lads, as green as the summer grass. Each one respectively bowed their heads as the gates were opened and the war party returned home. How strange it was, when last time they had smiled, sang and waved, welcoming their new Lady home. Six months ago Tom had arrived the celebrate a the wedding of a woman he had grown up with, bickered with and shared meals with. He had been so proud of her when she had stood in his sept and married him. He had attended other weddings were the bride and sobbed the whole way through, and had been given milk of the poppy to calm her down. But Elsie had stood there, with not a hair out of place. But when Tom rode into the courtyard, he saw a completely different woman. She was standing alone, with only the Maester by her side, her face pale, making the dark circles under her eyes stand out even more, and her tangled hair hastily pinned away from her face, leaving curls to fall in her face. She was dressed all in black, mourning the loss of a family member and she had a beautiful pin on her chest. She stood stiffly, staring unblinking at the the wagon as it rolled past her, and didn't look up when Tom and his companion rode through the gates. Tom frowned but quickly dismounted and held the other man's horse while he dismounted as his squire had been killed in the battle. It was only when the wagon had been taken to the crypts, so that the body could be prepared by the silent sisters for the funeral that she turned to face them. Tom watched as her face changed from misery, to disbelieve, to hope. He heard her cry out and sag against the Maester. The man next to him strode forward and then she was sobbing, and being enveloped in her husbands arms.

 **See? Told you to trust me. You didn't honestly believe I would kill him did you? Me? The girl who had a meltdown for the last two xmas specials? Who's friends think I'm insane because I'm obsessed with a Scottish House Keeper and a sentimental Butler instead of One direction or Justin Bieber? Please. I could never sink this ship.**


	12. Chapter 12

**I am blown away by the reviews I am getting on this strange little fic of mine. Thank you all so much.**

Charles stood on a small wooden jetty, watching the silvery blue waters of the Trident river go rushing by. He was out of his armor for the first time in months and even though it was his fathers funeral he felt lighter than air. He let his eyes drift over the many people, who had come to say goodbye before finally resting his gaze on the small rowing boat that lay on the jetty in front of him. He watched as the silent sisters loaded his fathers body onto a small rowing boat, decked in the family colours and surrounded by sweet smelling hay. Two burning barrels stood on each side of the boat and the Maester was standing off to the side with another ancient scroll in his hands. Tom Branson stood behind him, solemnly silent in the Winterfell colours, and on the River bank stood many other Lords, Knights, and Castle servants, all milling together, gathered to see Lord Carson be laid to rest. Elsie stood next to him, as close as she dared with all the people around, with a hand tucked under his elbow. Her hand was pressing against one of his many numerous bruises, and he knew if it had been anyone else he would have stepped away. But it felt good to know that she was there, supporting him, being his wife. The pain just reminded him how lucky he was to be alive, that every breath he drew was a blessing from the gods. It could have so easily been him in that boat, being laid to rest on a sunny afternoon. Instead, he stood as Lord of Riverrun with his wife by his side. He had ridden in earlier in the day, hot, dusty, grumpy with the pain of being on a horse and utterly terrified that she would not be there, or if she was that she would not be the kind, caring, strong woman that he had left behind. His fears had all boiled to a head when she had barely spared him a glance when he had arrived, choosing instead to watch the wagon that had carried his fathers body. But then she had seen him, and he had watched as the weight of the world had rolled off her shoulders. Before he knew it she was in his arms, sobbing and clinging onto him. He had forgotten how tiny she was, how very delicate and breakable she felt in his arms. He had forgotten how her hair smelt of lemon and how the ends tickled his fingers when he held her close to him. She was crying, holding him tighter to her with every sob and he was returning the pressure, burying his face into her neck while she hid under his arm. It hurt to hold her, thanks to the many bruises that mapped his skin and the barely healed cut up his arm. But there was no where else he would rather be, nothing else he would rather be doing. He forgot for a moment about the men he had lost, about the death of his father and the funeral he hoped she had managed to organize. He forgot that hundreds of him men were standing, waiting to be dismissed to return to their own families. Everything around him faded until it was just him and her, wrapped in each others arms, safe from falling swords, raining arrows and enemy ambushes.

Maester Clark had eventually cleared his throat and they broke apart slightly. He carefully wiped her tears off her cheek and gave her a loving smile

"You look beautiful." He had told her, voice cracking slightly at the joy of seeing her. She looked down at her black dress and patted her hair

"I look like a beggar" she replied, before reaching up and gently cupping his cheek

"How?" She had asked, her voice hoarse, "the raven said-"

"I know." He had answered, cupping her neck with his hand and running his thumb along the smooth skin of her cheek "and I'm so sorry. William was killed in the battle, and I had to ask a young lad to send it. He never thought that there were two Lord Carson's."

Maester Clark had cleared his throat again, and the rest of the world had come flooding back. He was now Lord of Riverrun and there was hundreds of men waiting on his command. There was weaponry to be put away, horses to be tended to and many other errands to be done. So they parted, with a promise to meet one another in the courtyard and walk down to the funeral together. Now she stood next to him, wearing the same black dress, with her Riverrun cloak and her hair pinned up, exposing her long neck.

Maester Clark stepped forward and started reciting the death rites, waving a lantern that billowed smoke as he did so. Charles looked down at his father, looking so peaceful resting on his bed of hay. The death stones, river pebbles painted with the likeness of his eyes, rested on his face, making it look like he was staring at the sky. He looked like the man that Charles had once knew, before the war had made him into something he wasn't. Maester Clark nodded and Charles stepped forward. He gently bent over the boat and placed his Father's sword in his hands. He then tucked the straw more tightly around him, before laying the shroud over him and tucking that in as well. He was surprised when a pair of slender delicate hands joined him and he looked up to find her bent over, helping him with such tenderness it made his heart ache. When they had finished they both stepped back and she slipped her hand into his and squeezed it, only letting go when Charles took a bow and a quiver of arrows from Maester Clark. Six of his father's most loyal banner men lowered the boat into the water and they stood in silence as it floated down the river. Once it had gotten far enough away from the jetty, Charles nocked one of his arrows, and dipped into the burning barrel. This was supposed to be Thomas' job but as he had left for the wall, it now had fallen to him. When Maester Clark had told him what Thomas had done, part of Charles had felt a tinge of pity for him as well as understanding. Thomas was never trained to be a Lord and Charles would never wish that responsibility on him. But at the same time he wanted to choke him for leaving Elsie all alone to deal with a castle she barely knew, customs that were not her own and the death of her husband. He only hoped that if he ever saw Thomas again, he had calmed down and forgiven him. Once the arrow had lit, he drew back, aimed and fired, praying to the gods that his arrow would find its mark. The gods must have been listening because within seconds his fathers boat burst into flame. As they watched it burn, still drifting down the river he allowed his memories of his father to fill his mind. Reading to Robert, Thomas and himself when they were little, teaching them how to ride, laughing when they got into rows and shouting at them when they got themselves into too much trouble. Then the dark days, of war plans, armor and battles. Riding to war together, the warnings and the last few lessons on how to be a powerful Lord. The sword that had opened his chest, and the long slow ride home behind his body. But the memory that stood out the most, was his fathers smile at his wedding, when he married the beauty of the North. It had been the most genuine smile his Father had worn in a long while.

 **Explanations and what not to come next chapter. I hope you enjoyed this one! Please review and let me know your thoughts.**


	13. Chapter 13

**I don't have a beta, so I apologize for any mistakes you might find. I do my best to catch them but they're sneaky little things.**

He was warm. Warm and heavy. She wasn't sure how they ended up here, sprawled across their bed, but somehow they had. The men that had attended his father's funeral had long gone, along with Tom, her last connection to home. Yet she didn't feel as lost as she thought she would. Oh, she had been emotional when she said her final goodbyes, but when he had left for war she had been tempted to climb onto his horse with him. Today she was more than content to remain at home, because somewhere in the last six months this place had become her home, and with him back where he belonged it was finally complete. She was still adjusting to the fact that he was here, still breathing, still talking, still being Charles. She was lying on their bed, propped up on the elaborate headboard that she had come to hate over the last six months. It was carved into fishes, with the curls of waves surrounding them, and real river rocks on curling up the posts. The artwork was exquisite but she had caught her hair on it far too often to appreciate its beauty. He was lying across the bed, his head resting in her lap and she was running her fingers through his curls and down his warm cheek before starting the process all over again. He had a fading scar marking his cheek, one that hadn't been there before he left, but one that would now mar his skin as a reminder of what the war had cost him. It was almost therapeutic, the slow stroke of her hand, their even breathing and the quiet of the castle around them. She knew he was in pain by the stiff way he moved, favoring his left arm. She knew that grief was threatening to overwhelm him by the way his eyes had teared up with he shot that arrow to say goodbye to his father. Yet she couldn't quite quell the joy at having him back, and couldn't bring herself to feel guilty that she was estactically happy on the day he buried a close family member.

"I suppose I should tell you what happened." He said eventually, sitting up and moving so he too was leaning against the head board, side by side with her. She rolled over to face him, propping herself up on her elbow and looking up at him.

"Only if you're ready." She answered in a low soothing voice. He nodded and closed his eyes before launching into the story.

EHCC

He watched in horror as the King's sword flashed in the sun, and buried itself into his Father's chest. His father had let out a short cry, before falling to the ground with a thump, mud splashing up and soiling his armor. His great sword fell from his hand and rolled to a stop in front of the Lord of Highgarden, a lord that was on their side and had attended his wedding. The battle ground seemed to freeze as everyone turned to watch what had happened, unable to believe that their Lord had been killed. He watched as the King removed the sword from his Father's chest, the scarlet blood falling to the ground in sticky drops and let out a mad cackle. Lord Painswick sheathed his own sword, before bending and picking up his fathers fallen sword. He turned it over in his hands, weighing it, testing it, before holding it in front of him.

"In the name of Lord Arthur Carson, Lord of Riverrun and the Riverlands." He said in a cold voice, not moving from his position "I, Lord Marmaduke Painswick of Highgarden, sentence you, Anthony Gillingham, to death."

There was a silence as the crown absorbed this, men not even raising their swords or fighting the enemies that surrounded them. Everyone was watching Lord Painswick as he wiped the blade clean. And then he charged.

Instantly pandemonium erupted, Kings men screaming as they died and the continuous shout from the Riverlands and Northern men

"Lord Arthur Carson. Lord Arthur Carson. Lord Arthur Carson." Again and again as they cut man after man down. Charles lost sight of Lord Painswick, who was battling the King with a fierce intensity, utterly absorbed in his task, and focused on staying alive. He took blow after blow, ducked, dodged and struck out with his sword, a cold fury enveloping him until there was nothing left but the man in front of him, until he cut him down and the next one took his place. He didn't know how long the fight took place, didn't know how many Southern men died because of him. At this moment in time he didn't really care, but he felt invincible, his anger turning into energy and keeping him more than aware of his surroundings. He was dimly aware of the throbbing pain in his arm, a long cut that ran from his elbow to his shoulder, that he had no idea how he got. Blood was now pouring from it, but it wasn't nearly enough to stop him. Finally there was a hunting horn blown and his concentration suddenly broke. He stopped and turned to survey the battleground. There were bodies everywhere, the occasional Riverlands or Northern men but mostly the King's men. The carnage was everywhere, horses that had fallen, mastiffs that would guard the castle no more and the grass coated in blood. Then there was Lord Painswick, standing over the body of the king, Lord Carson's sword still in hand looking dazed. Charles had a split second to decide, challenge him for the throne, like his Father had wanted, or let him keep it. He decided to disobey his father one last time and dropped to his knees.

"All Hail our new King" he called out in a strong clear voice as his men followed his lead

"Lord Marmaduke of house Painswick, King of the lands and men of Downton, protector of the realm and warden of the Southern Sea."

There were several shouts of 'Long live the King" and then and only then did the men sheath their swords, wipe the sweat from their brows and begin to deal with the countless deaths.

Later, once night had fallen, Lord Painswick had joined him in his tent and together they had sat, drinking in silence.

"I would have yielded to you, you know. If you had wanted it." Lord Painswick had eventually said

"I know." Charles had replied heavily "but I didn't want it."

"Why not?"

"Because I want to go home, bury my father and live a peaceful life."

Lord Painswick had nodded before draining his cup and getting to his feet. He had already pulled back the tent flap when he turned and said

"I'm so sorry for your Father."

And then he left, before he could see the tears whell up in Charles's eyes.

EHCC

There was a silence as he finished telling his tale. Elsie had very rarely been at a loss for words, but she grappled to find the right words to say to him. It was hard to believe that everything had gone wrong in such a short space of time, and that this man was still here. Battered, bruised and emotionally exhausted but still here.

"Why didn't you want the Throne?" She asked and he turned to face her, mimicking her pose by propping himself up on his elbow.

"I didn't want to leave Riverrun." He answered softly "I didn't want to leave you."

"I would have come with you." She said, reaching out and touching his shoulder. "I would have followed you to war if I could have."

"I know. But I would be too busy being King to appreciate that. To appreciate you. Family is everything to me. How can I look after my family when I'm too busy looking after a country?"

He reached forward with his free arm and cupped her neck with his palm, allowing his thumb to brush against her lips.

"Its the quiet life for me." He whispered before leaning forward and capturing her lips with his own. It was a slow and gentle kiss, not rushed or hurried, but it was so different from the chaste one they had shared on their wedding day. It was filled with respect, tenderness and dare she say it, love. She held onto his shoulders, clasping him to her as he deepened the kiss, allowing him to start slipping her dress away from her shoulders before kissing down her neck. Maybe it was wrong to be doing this on the day of his father's funeral, but it felt so right, and judging by the way he was touching her, inching her dress down and off her body he agreed. Besides, they were man and wife, and this is what they were supposed to have done six months ago. She was glad they had waited, she couldn't imagine sending him off to war after this. He was slow and so gentle and when they were finished kissed her goodnight, wrapped his arms and legs possessively around her and only released his hold when she stirred the next morning, stiff and sore, but happier than she had been in years.

 **-gets down on knees and holds out hands- PLEASE review! And thank you to those who already have, throughout this journey.**


	14. Chapter 14

**My apologies for the long wait for this. I had half of it written and then I got writers block and its been a rough week. I shall endevour to make it up to you.**

There was always something about a hunt that Charles had enjoyed as a young man. The hearty gallop with the hounds into the forest, allowing his horse to stretch its legs and work up a fine sheen of sweat, the dogs happily scenting the ground and air for the vague scent of a deer or rabbit and the concentration of the men around him. It usually relaxed him, especially when it was a morning hunt, before the rest of the world woke up. It was of the few times he would join in on the men's banter. It was a time when Lords and farmers lads all became men, stations dissolved and they all focused on the goal instead of the bowing and scraping that would occur when ever they would meet in other circumstances. Yet on this particular morning he felt the tension rise within his belly as the castle gates were opened and they set across the moor towards the forest. It was a beautiful morning for a hunt, the sun was barely up turning the world a pale gold, a soft breeze blew in their direction and the fields glittered with the dew that had not yet dried up, making it look like a scene from one of the fairy and dragon tales he had been told as a child. Perhaps the problem was that this hunt was vastly different from the others he had participated in. The setting was the same at ever was, the horses, the hounds and shouts of the men. The blowing horn and the smell of leather. But the people around him were different. There was no Thomas, glaring at the men in front of him or humming a jolly song. They had received a raven a few weeks back to say that he was no longer a member of their family having joined the men of the Nights Watch. He hoped he was happy, and not regretting his decision to leave the comforts of Riverrun for the icy winds of the North. Charles had often entertained thoughts of renouncing his claim to Riverrun and leaving to become a Maester, but he never would have guessed that Thomas was thinking the same. He had always assumed that he liked the Brothel's far too much to swear an oath to father no children, liked lording it over men to renounce any claim he might have. But he supposed one never knew what the other was thinking. Robert was gone as well, taken by the stranger in the name of the Lord of Light. Burned to death fighting an unjust leader. He missed talking to him, almost living through him as Robert described his many adventures and the woman he had bedded along the way. In a way Charles wondered if he had lived too fast, too brightly and there was nothing left for him to do. Robert had always been the attention seeking one, the one that everyone noticed and Charles had been more than happy to let him take center stage. Now he was the only one left. Yet the loss of his two brothers was nothing compared to the loss of his father. His father had always been the head of everyone and everything. Around Riverrun his word was law, because he was wiser than you could hope to be. Thomas and Robert often complained that he ruled with an iron fist, often quelling people with just a look or a curled lip but now that everything fell to Charles he could see why he'd done it. It was now his call whether to give chase or call it a day, the same way every other decision around the castle was now his. He wasn't used to being the one everyone looked towards at council meetings, wasn't used to being the one everyone turned to for help and wasn't used to people trying to take advantage of him when he was at his worst. He had always had an old head on a young pair of shoulders but Charles found himself having to grow up in an alarmingly short space of time. Elsie helped. She filled the Castle with laughter and music, lifting the depression that had threatened to settle over them all. She wasn't above scolding him when he got too maudlin, but at the same allowing him to talk and be heard. She dragged him out to go riding, made him talk to the servants around him, joined him in reading a book in the evenings and advised him on matters around the castle. He got to know on a deeper level how much responsibility she had been asked to handle at home after her mother had died, how good she was at organizing people. He had lost count how many people she had sent home so he could have a meal at the end of the day. He understood that the farmers were battling. Half their sons had been killed at war, but there were times that he felt completely overwhelmed. Elsie kept them at a distance and made it all seem bareable. But even with her around, making his life a happy one, there were gaps left by a Brother and Father that even she couldn't fill.

"My Lord?"

Charles looked over at his squire, a pimply young lad who's name he couldn't remember

"The kennel master is ready to let the dogs go."

Charles gave his nod and the hounds took off in a circle before finding the scent and baying. He urged his horse into a canter and gave chase, followed hotly by the rest of the party.

It wasn't long before before they had shot several rabbits and ducks and had now discovered a large wild boar, and had closed in around it. It was a large pig, weighing around a hundred and ninety pounds, and it was growing increasingly angry at being confined. Charles slowly raised his spear and waited for the perfect opportunity to plunge the end into the pigs heart. The pig whirled around and presented the perfect opportunity. But suddenly he was back on a muddy field, a wound on his arm and Tom Branson was calling for him to move. The man in front of him remained frozen, a look of terror on his face, not even moving his sword to defend himself. He couldn't do it. Couldn't kill the young lad who was merely paid to be on the wrong side of his sword. He stopped breathing, his heart sped up and all he needed to do was lunge. But he couldn't make his arm move, couldn't even swallow. Suddenly an arrow flew past his ear and he lunged to the side to avoid it. It was shot by his squire, who was wearing a smirk that Charles didn't entirely trust. Yet when he turned back, the boar lay dead at his feet.

He ordered the men to carry the boar to the cart that was waiting on the edge of the thick forest and spent a half hour watching the hounds run in circles. Eventually he ordered them all to return home. During the ride home he drew level with his squire

"Thank you for that." He said gruffly, finally remembering that the lad's name was Jon. "I don't think I was ready to go hunting yet, my arm still isn't right.

Jon shot him an amused look, before kicking his horse into speeding up and pulling ahead

"Just make the bloody shot next time" Charles heard him say "cause I won't be covering for you next time."

Charles frowned as he rode away, but didn't call him out for it. His father probably would have ordered him to be thrown in the dungeons for a day, but he couldn't bring himself to care. It was only when he looked down at his hands, did he realize that he hadn't stopped shaking.

 **Thank you for reading, please let me know your thoughts by clicking the cute 'review' button. To all of you who have and do review. Thank you.**


	15. Chapter 15

**Thank you once again to those of you who take the time to review! Its also good to see in the recent fics popping up that I am not the only one who is mad at Charles and Julian Fellows.**

She had known immediately that something was wrong, had seen it from her window as he had ridden in, horse acting up and snorting. She supposed she be down there as she would have been when it was her father coming home. But somehow she couldn't force herself to get out of bed. She imagined he would have some very sarcastic words to say to her when he discovered that she was still in bed after she had dragged him out of bed the day before to go riding. It wasn't that she was being lazy, it was still early morning and half the castle was still asleep. But she had always been an early riser, preferring to get everything done before the night hit where she would be in bed before the first tavern even considered opening its doors. She supposed she should get up and at very least put a dressing gown on but her bed was comfortable and warm. Besides, she was hoping he might crawl in with her if the castle permitted. So she snuggled down and awaited his foot steps on the stairs outside her door.

It took longer than she had expected but she eventually heard his heavy foot steps and the door handle turning. She turned to face him before sitting up with a gasp.

He looked horrible. It was perhaps a harsh way of putting it but she had no other way to describe him. He was as pale as the snows of Winterfell and as shaking like he had been out in the cold for far too long

"Charles." She breathed, before getting out of bed a hurrying to his side, completely ignoring her robe hanging up and her feet on the cold floor "what happened?"

"Your feet." He answered, looking down "they'll get cold."

She shot him an annoyed look before taking his arm and pulling him further into the room. She slammed the door behind him before rushing to the window and pulling the drapes over the window. It left the room fairly dark but at least there would be no prying eyes.

"Charles?" she said softly. He gave her sad stare before pulling out a chair at their small dining room table and sitting down heavily. She sat across from him and reached across for his hand

"What happened?"

"I couldn't do it." He answered softly "We were ready, the shot would have been perfect. But I just froze. It felt like I was back there, only this time it didn't fade. I was aware of what I was doing."

"what did you see?" She asked, allowing her fingers to run over his in a soothing manner

"The same thing I always see, the sword in my hand and the young boy I murdered standing in front of me, not doing anything to defend himself. "

"you always see?" she repeated "this has happened before?"

"I see it in my dreams, when I'm out riding by myself. In council yesterday morning a young girl came in with her younger brother. He had hurt himself badly while ploughing one of his fathers fields. He was cut badly and was bleeding and it all just sent me back. There's nothing I can do, I can't escape it, until something jolts me awake. Today my squire shot an arrow right past my ear. If I was on the battle field he could have killed my without even trying. Yesterday it was something as simple as Maester Clark clearing his throat."

"Oh Charles, why didn't you tell me?" She asked, her voice a little bit shaky. It was hard to believe that she hadn't noticed any of this. She was his wife, how could she not notice that he was struggling? That he was still haunted by what he had seen? Or had she seen it and had chosen to ignore it? Furthermore, she had no idea how to heal him. He shrugged in response

"You have enough to worry about." He answered quietly. Elsie felt like she had taken a dagger to the stomach. She knew Charles didn't like to bother people, a result she suspected of being the middle child in the family, but she never knew that he felt the same about her. It had taken her weeks of nagging to get him to take his sword to the armourer to have it sharpened. His excuse had been that he would be too busy fixing everyone else's swords to repair his. Eventually Elsie had taken it there herself and the armourer had been delighted to have their custom. Charles had reluctantly admitted that he was wrong. But now Elsie wondered if he had ever opened up to anyone.

"Charles!" She exclaimed, trying to hide the hurt in her voice "you can tell me anything, anytime. Surely you know this?"

"I suppose so. " He replied, not meeting her eyes. She frowned at him for a moment, this large utterly broken man, before wrapping him in a hug. He stiffed for a moment before melting into her

"I'm not cut out for this Elsie." He whispered "it was Robert. Always Robert. He should be the one having to run this place, like he was born to. I'm not supposed to be here."

"Shhhh" she said, rocking him slightly "You are a wonderful leader and your men would follow you into war again this very moment if you asked them to. The castle is still standing, our stores are almost full for winter and everyone is in good health, so we can't be doing that bad of a job."

"I couldn't even shoot a boar, Elsie" he answered, although it was in a calmer tone "how can I lead an army of people when I can't even feed my family?"

"War changes us all." She answered firmly "Later we'll go and talk to Maester Clark and see if he can suggest anything and once we've sorted that we'll throw a dinner. We never did celebrate the end of the war."

He straightened up and stroked her cheek thoughtfully

"That sounds like a plan" he said softly "Its about time we did something around here that has nothing to do with planning for winter or war."

Elsie stood and held out her hand for him to take

"lets get changed" she suggested as he took it "and then we'll go and find Maester Clark. I need to see him myself."

She didn't think Charles had heard her as she shed her nightgown and pulled on one of her more drab dresses, before sitting down to brush out the tangle of her hair. It wasn't until they were both ready and were half way down the stair case when he suddenly turned to face her with a worried expression on his face.

"Why do you need to visit Maester Clark?"

"I need to borrow a book from him. " She answered vaguely

"Oh?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. She had the run of the library at Riverrun, that had over a thousand books in it, so she wasn't lacking for reading matter.

"I'm afraid the Riverrun library doesn't have many books on babies, and I've never had one before, so I'd like to know what to expect. I asked my Septa, but as she's sworn never to marry she wasn't much help."

He came to a halt and she kept walking until he grabbed her arm and pulled her back towards him.

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

She allowed a smile to spread over her face and answered

"I realise that this probably isn't the most ideal time to tell you, but I couldn't keep it to myself any longer. Maester Clark confirmed it about a week ago, I was just waiting for a moment to tell you." She said quietly, aware that the old ladies by the fire in the great hall were doing their best to eavesdrop "I'm pregnant Charles."

She didn't need to keep her voice down after all because Charles let out a yell and grabbed her and spun her in a circle. It took a good half hour to stop repeating the phrase

"A baby! Amazing!" over and over again.

 **PLEASE! Review? Please?**


	16. Chapter 16

**This is more of a filler than anything. I hate writing fillers as I get bored but I hope its not too terrible. If it is, I'm sorry.**

Charles sighed deeply as he made his way down the spiralling staircase that lead to the Maesters quarters in the South tower. The stairs were gloomy, made out of a rough rock that he knew had been brought in from further inland and had a dark look about them. Maester Clark had tried to cheer it up by placing as many candles in the small alcoves as he could, but there was still a forbidding sense to this particular staircase. it was almost as though it was willing him to fall, which was ridiculous. Elsie used to tease him for hating this staircase, and would race up it with no hesitation at all but since discovering she was pregnant, she found that the endless spirals, the darkness and the smell of several oil candles made her feel uneasy and prone to falling ill. Charles had banned her from going anywhere near it. She had agreed, but had not been nearly as amused when he had insisted a day or so later that she give up riding, or when he took over all her responsibilities of organizing of the celebration feast they would be holding in the next few months. She was bored, Charles knew this. He had discovered in the last three months just how sharp her tongue could be when she was frustrated. She spent her days with her feet propped up, reading a book , sewing and occasionally glaring at people who were still allowed to move around. He knew that he was probably being far too over protective, she had told him so often enough, but the thought of something going wrong with their baby scared him like nothing had ever done before.

It was hard to believe that four months had gone past since she told had told him she was expecting. It felt as though he had blinked and the time had flown by, yet at the same time it felt like he had been waiting for ever. His family was slowly starting to feel complete again.

He finally reached the end of the long stair case and took a deep breath of the cold air that swirled around him as he stepped into the courtyard. His squire appeared from around the corner and placed his cloak around his shoulders. He hated they way they all clucked around him now that he was Lord of Riverrun. When Robert and his father had been alive, he had done everything for himself, including putting on his own cloak and fetching his own meals and he much preferred it that way. However, he knew that it was what was expected of him so he gritted his teeth and put up with it.

"Good session My Lord?" Jon said softly, almost in a whisper. Charles glanced at him. He sometimes wondered if the boy knew too much about his personal life than was strictly necessary.

"Yes, thank you Jon. Maester Clark is a valuable asset to this Castle and to my family." Charles replied sternly. Jon nodded and stepped away from him as Charles looked away from him and towards his part of the Castle. He was surprised to see Elsie standing in the door way of the great hall, chatting away to one of the servant girls

"Elsie!" he called, striding towards her with a frown on his face, looking every bit the formidible Lord he was supposed to be. "What do you think you're doing?"

She rolled her eyes in response

"Waiting for you obviously" She retorted with a smirk. His frown deepened and her smile dropped. "For the love of the gods, Charles, I'm not lifting anything. I'm not doing anything physical. I am simply standing on a wide step waiting to find out how your time with Maester Clark went. You cannot expect me to spend the next four months sitting in bed or in the great hall doing nothing."

"I'm just worried-"

"You're just worried about the baby." She cut in "I know. But Charles, I am his mother . You've got to trust me."

"His?" he said, a smile unfurling on his face. "You know its a he?"

"No." She said, laughing at his hopeful expression "but I suspect. They do say that a mother knows these things. How was your time with Maester Clark?"

"The same as it always is." He answered, before shrugging and gently leading her back inside. His time with Maester Clark was not what he had expected. Horror stories had filled his head about people who had gone mad after war. Images of leeches, holes being drilled into his skull and electric eels being placed in his bath water had filled his mind. Yet all Maester Clark had wanted him to do was talk. At first, he had given him a vial of milk of the poppy to help him sleep, but that too had eventually become a thing of the past and Charles was sleeping just fine on his own. Occasionally he would wake with a start, but it was not images of war that kept him awake. It was the excitement of a new life being brought into the world.

"We've had a raven from the King. " Elsie supplied, as he sat her down in her usual chair and took the one next to her for himself. A few of his men surrounded him, and his squire provided them both with a large bowl of hearty stew. Charles looked at her in alarm, hearing from the King was not a regular occurrence, one that usually only happened when there was a matter to be addressed "Don't look so alarmed" she said, tucking into the stew with gusto. She had lost weight recently, having spent a few weeks being violently ill. Charles was glad to see that her appetite had returned.

"I have every reason to be alarmed" Charles replied "The King does not usually write for pleasure. 'Dark wings, dark words' as my mother used to say."

"Well your mother was wrong in this instance, because he only wrote to say that he, Lady Rosamund and her family will be attending our feast. They ask that they might have a weeks recovery with us after the long ride. He would also like to tour the Riverrunlands while he's here."

Charles groaned aloud. He had never been fond of the Queen's mother and younger sister. Hhe found them to be silly and neurotic. But he supposed if he was to entertain the King he could survive the invasion of clucking females. Besides, it'll be good for Elsie to have some company. He wondered what she would say when she heard of the surprise he had organized for her. He knew she missed home, as anyone would, but her home was a part of her. She didn't just grow up in it, it was her that made it a home. He only hoped that this would ease the ache a little. Someday, once the baby was born and strong enough, he'd take them both to the North. It only seemed fair that she should be able to show her child the place where she had grown up, the place that made his or her mother the woman she was today. Charles had to admit he was curious to see the place himself.

"Charles?" Elsie said, turning in her chair to stare at his face "are you alright?"

"Sorry, got lost in thought. Please reply and tell him that we look forward to welcoming him into our home."

Elsie gave him a happy smile and went back to her stew. Charles pushed his around his plate until his squire came back to retrieve their plates. He was looking forward to this feast, looking forward to see Elsie do what she does best and charm people into loving her. Charles hadn't always been one for feasts and dancing but even he had to admit that this one was long over due. Yet hours later as he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, with Elsie curled up next to him, he still couldn't shake the feeling that something dark and terrible was brewing. He only hoped that it was nerves over becoming a father that was affecting him, and not something much more serious. He hadn't told Elsie this, but he still didn't trust his squire. The shot that had killed the boar had been a little too close for comfort.

 **Please review and let me know what you thought! Also, if you feel like getting your heart broken a little, please head on over to my new baby "Ask Me To Stay". Thank you all!**


	17. Chapter 17

**My sincere apologies for the lack of updates here. I really have no excuse. Forgive me?**

Elsie was standing just outside the great hall when she heard her husbands voice boom out

"Has anyone seen my wife?!"

she sighed gently to herself before poking her head round the door and waving at him.

"Right here my Lord" she said almost sarcastically. His face relaxed into one of relief before he frowned and strode towards her, cape flying out behind him and sword strapped to his side. She had to admit that if she met him in battle she would probably run away, he looked so fierce. It was the night of the feast they had been planning for months, and both of them were dressed in their finest. A few of his men and the kitchen staff that were putting the finishing touches on the decorations, all in the family colours and the Crown colours. They all bowed as he strode past and gave him a fearful look from behind his back. Lately he had been growing increasingly sharp with people, and his temper seemed to hold no limits. Elsie put it down to the stress if this evening, and the impending birth of his child.

"What are you doing out here?" he demanded harshly as he stepped outside. "you're supposed to be lying down until the King arrives." Maester Clark had put her on bed rest for the last two moons of pregnancy, a rule she was finding hard to obey. Charles had promised her that she was allowed to attend tonight providing she didn't tire herself out too much. She looked up at him and frowned

"I sent your squire to fetch you, our scouts have reported that the King is close. Didn't he tell you?" She asked, shifting her weight from side to side. She missed her thin figure and slim ankles. Everything seemed to be swelling up recently. "I told him I'd meet you out here."

"No, he didn't. " Charles answered, frowning along side with her "I haven't seen him since this morning, when he was cleaning the tack for the hunt tomorrow."

"How odd" Elsie commented, shifting again.

"Won't you at least wait inside?" he asked, his voice suddenly turning gentle. He brought his hand up to rest on the small of her back and she leant into his shoulder. He was probably right but before she could agree and head to a chair, the gate horns sounded out, announcing the King's arrival. The few servants that were still around vanished back into the kitchen, and Charles's household guard lined up along the Castle walls. Charles guided her forward and they lined up in front of the doors. The ground shook with the thundering of hooves and the first of the Kingsguard rode in, followed by the King, the Queen's carriage and ended with even more guards. Elsie was used to being surrounded by people, but she couldn't help but be relieved that he had turned the Crown down. She wasn't sure if she could survive being surrounded by all these men in armor all the time. As the King rode into the courtyard, Elsie and Charles knelt and bowed their heads. Or rather she tried to and he seemed to go even lower as if he was trying to compensate. His hand remained on her back. She glanced up briefly, just as the King climbed off his horse and strode towards them, before looking down again. A hand appeared in her line of sight and she waited until Charles rose before following his lead. The king was not quite what she expected. He was a short man with dark blonde hair and gleaming blue eyes. He was lean and sprightly and Elsie imagined he could move fast when he wanted to. He looked tired though, but whether it was from the journey or something more, Elsie couldn't quite tell.

"Lord Carson." The King said, holding out a gloved hand for him to shake "it's good to see you again."

"and you, Your Grace." Charles replied "Lady Carson and I are honoured that you made the journey."

"I wish I could say it was only for the feast" the King answered gravely "but we can discuss that later." He turned his attention to Elsie, eyeing her face before taking her hand and pressing a light kiss to her fingers "you must be Lady Elsbeth. It's lovely to finally meet you."

"Its an honour to meet you, you grace" Elsie replied curtsying "I hope you will be comfortable with us."

The King gave her a friendly smile, before turning towards the carriage, where a beautiful woman was emerging. She was tall, taller than her husband and dressed entirely in gold. Her dark red hair, kissed by fire, they would have called it in the North, hung loose down her back and she wore a friendly smile.

"May I introduce my wife, Lady Rosamund." He said, reaching out towards her whilst turning back to them. Both of them bowed and murmured "my queen."

"I've never been to the Riverrun lands before" she commented, looking around at the Castle "I have to admit it's quite a treat that Marmaduke brought me here."

"If you would like to follow us inside" Charles said offering a hand to the Queen "you can get comfortable before the feast begins. "

The Queen took his arm and allowed him to lead her inside, followed by Elsie and the King. Elsie cast a worried look around the great hall, and was relieved to find that everything had been completed to perfection. She still couldn't explain the uneasy feeling that she just couldn't shake.

))(())((

If there was one thing the people of the Riverlands did well, apart from fish, it was celebrate. The great hall was packed with people from all over the South. Ale was flowing and Elsie was worried that they might run out of food. Lords and farm hands mingled, laughing and dancing together and the noise of the hall was enough to frighten away any mysterious creature. The musicians were in the middle of a particularly lively tune, and Elsie wished she could dance with her husband like they did at their wedding. Unfortunately Maester Clark was keeping an eye on her and her husband had left her side for the first time in months. She looked around for him, and found him huddled in a dark corner with the King at his side, seemly holding a conversation in whispers. She frowned to herself but didn't react. She knew Charles was happy to see his friend, and honoured to have him feast with them but Elsie knew there was a far more important reason for his visit. She only hoped that it wasn't another war.

"Would you like some more duck Mi'lady?" one of the servant girls asked, holding a platter under her nose. A wave of nausea came over her and she waved the platter away.

"No thank you" she murmured as the feeling worsened "could you tell my Husband that I've retired to my chambers, if he asks?"

"Yes mi'lady." The girl nodded "are you quite alright? You've gone very pale" Elsie pushed herself to her feet and winced as a sharp pain shot through her belly. She had had these before, but she didn't remember them being this bad.

"I'm fine thank you." Elsie said, touching the girls arm and smiling gently. "I'm just tired." The girl nodded again and Elsie did her best to glide away. She had just reached her rooms when the pain happened again and she leant against the door with her eyes closed and took a deep breath. She needed to lie down. However, she had only walked a few steps when she felt a arm wrap around her chest and pull her backwards.

"Well, well, I was hoping for the Lord himself, but you'll do just as well" a voice whispered in her ear as a dagger pressed against her throat.

 **Please review and let me know your thoughts!**


	18. Chapter 18

**Thank you all so much for your reviews, I was once again blown away. This chapter probably isn't what you hoped for, but I promise that'll come next chapter. For those of you who have watched GoT, despite the chain mail, I promise it won't end up like the Red Wedding.**

Considering that it was supposed to be his party Charles wasn't sure how he had ended up in the dark corner, drinking with a melancholy King. His flagon of Ale had only been refilled once, but the Kings seemed to be in constant need of a top up. He wasn't talking very much, keeping it to the bare minimum of small talk but Charles knew there was something wrong by the way he kept glaring at every man who came near their table. He could see Elsie seated at the main table, tapping her foot along to the rhythm of the music the men had struck up. It was rowdy, but she had a slight smile on her face, despite looking so tired. He supposed he ought to go and check if she was alright, but the King had positioned himself in such a way that Charles would have to climb over him to get to her.

"Your majesty." Charles started with a sigh as a serving girl filled up his flagon yet again. The king waved a hand and snorted

"We've been friends for years Charles, trained together and all. You know my name."

"Marmaduke." Charles amended, surreptitiously moving the kings flagon out of reach while he attacked half a duck. "You didn't come all this way for a feast did you?"

The King stiffed and stopped eating. He glanced around them before dropping the piece of meat he had in his hands back on to the plate and pushing it away from him.

""No, I didn't." He admitted "I came to ask for your help."

"My help?"

"The Iron Born." The king said and Charles felt his blood run cold. The Iron Born were a group of people who were born and raised on the Iron Islands, two small islands made of rough rock. No crops grew there, so they survived by living off the sea that surrounded them, and reaping as they saw fit from the trade boats that were unlucky enough to pass by. They were hard people. Raised to be brutal and ruthless. They had no qualms over drowning babies in order to sacrifice them to their drowned god, and once they were in battle mode there was very little that could stop them.

However, most of the time they kept to themselves and in a way the Throne had reached a silent agreement with them to leave one another reasonably alone. They paid their taxes, and if a ship was stupid enough to go near them, there was nothing the crown could do about it.

"The Iron born." Charles repeated, shaken slightly by the King's grave look.

"They're revolting." The King said "they want to be free of us, and be their own rulers as they were before the dragon's brought them to order. They do not want to answer to a southern lord, and are threatening war."

"Threatening?" Charles asked darkly "The Iron Born don't threaten."

"No they don't. They've already invaded the coast, and have sent a small army to King's landing. We dispersed with them fairly easily, but I still had over a hundred peasants dead in my streets. They're angry Charles, and we both know that they won't be easily brought to heel. The last thing that quelled them was-"

"Dragons." Charles said darkly "but the dragons died out hundreds of years ago. Not just here, but in the foreign lands as well. No one is alive today that has seen one."

The King reached for his flagon and took a large gulp

"They say there are some in Pentos. It might be possible to convince-"

"They also say that the Gargoyles in Kings Landing come to life when the city is attacked. We both know that this is not the case."

"Then help me Charles. You helped me win the Throne now help me keep the bloody thing."

Charles rubbed his ear and sat back in his chair. A war against the Iron Born was not going to be easy to win, in fact it would be near impossible.

"Why don't you give them what they want?" he asked. The king shook his head.

"Rosamund suggested the same. If I did that they'd know that I couldn't beat them. They'd take advantage and take over the whole country, and even if they didn't then everywhere from the Wall to the Southern sea would want to rule themselves. The country would go back to the dark days, where every Lord was at war with his neighbours. "

Charles glanced up at the red haired beauty that was dancing with another of the Southern Lords. She was laughing and twirling, seemingly unaware of the dark mood that her Husband was in.

"Rosamund knows?" He asked

"Of course." The King replied "she was in Kingslanding when the attack took place, and she's been helping with the orphans that are left. I trust her Charles and I need to know if I can trust you to help."

He was silent for a few moments as he thought about it. He had been lucky enough to survive the last war, what were the chances of him surviving this one? But if he didn't fight, war would ravage its way through the country anyway.

"I'll think about it." He said gruffly, getting up from his chair and waiting for the king to move so he could pass

"But-"

"I said, I'll think about it." Charles repeated. "You'll have my answer by morning."

The King nodded and stood to move his chair

"That is all I can ask."

Charles nodded as he walked past the King and back into the rowdy party that was still going strong. Rosamund was still dancing, albeit a little slower than before, and the wine and Ale were still flowing. He hoped that Elsie hadn't tried to dance, although he doubted she would have without him. Maester Clark had promised to keep an eye on her, but Charles had to admit that she could be sneaky when she wanted. He made his way through the frolicking masses towards the high table, but when he got there he found that she was no longer there. He squire appeared at his right elbow, goblet in hand

"Wine, milord?"

Charles shook his head and the man started to move away.

"Jon." Charles called and the man stopped and turned a look of annoyance on his face. "Have you seen milady?"

Jon shrugged and glanced around the hall, before turning back to Charles.

"I believe she went outside for some air" he said "I think the candles weren't agreeing with her."

"Thank you. " Charles said "you may take the rest of the night off." He strode back through the crowds towards the large doors, not bothering to wait for a reply. He bumped into a man halfway across, sending his plate of food flying.

"My apologies." He said briskly

'Not to worry my Lord." the man said, reaching out to pick up the plate and as he did so he sleeve pulled back to reveal the edge of what looked like chain mail. Charles blinked and it was gone. He shook his head and carried on walking. It had probably been a trick of the light, the candles flickering off a silver button perhaps. Yet once he reached the doors and stepped outside he knew that he had not been mistaken. Lined up against the castle walls were hundreds of men, some on horseback others on foot. At first glance they all appeared to be armed to the teeth, and most of them were carrying lit torches. A tall man stepped forward, wearing a long grey cloak that matched his hair.

"Lord Carson" he said as he gave an exaggerated bow "how pleased I am to finally make your acquaintance."

Charles stiffened, surveying the scene in front of him. It would seem that the King would not have to wait until morning to receive his answer, because the war had already come to them.

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	19. Chapter 19

**Thank you again for your lovely report. This may carry on until April when the new GoT season comes out. Although I'm running out of stuff to happen. Who knows. Lol**

Elsie almost gagged as the man's rancid breath washed over her. His hand was clamped over her mouth and he held a dagger to her throat, bending her head backwards to lean on his shoulder and stare at the ceiling. She considered biting him, but she knew that he would slit her throat long before she could do any real damage.

"I'm going to move my hand from your mouth." The man said, the dagger digging a little deeper into her skin "If you scream, I'll spill your blood all over this pretty dress and you'll be dead long before anyone gets anywhere near you. Do you understand?"

Elsie gave a tiny nod and the man moved his hand away from her mouth. She took a deep breath of the cold air that surrounded her. The knife was still at her throat, and he had now grabbed her long plait with his free had, preventing her from turning around.

"Who are you?" she asked carefully.

"I am nameless" he answered her, and she once again resisted the urge to gag "You don't need to know who I am, because once your husband is dead, you'll be no one, just like me. The North doesn't want their used goods back."

"Who says my husband will die?" Elsie asked "He survived the war. He's one of the best swords men in the kingdom."

"I don't care if he's the best in the world." The man growled, before shifting her further into the room towards the window. She almost screamed when he pushed her, before realizing that he wasn't going to throw her from the window, he just wanted her to look down. Below her there were hundreds of men, all dressed in dark iron armor and carrying torches. A spike of fear ran through her and she felt her blood run cold.

"Iron Born." She whispered and the man behind her chuckled. The Iron born were ruthless, she had seen what they had done to the coastal villages up north.

"Your husband might have been able to survive, except that there's a hundred men out there who only have one order. Kill the King and the Lord of Riverrun. "

Elsie opened her mouth to answer but another wave pain shot through her belly. She let out a tiny gasp and buckled over slightly, causing the knife to cut into her throat. As she straightened, she felt little drops of blood bead on her throat.

"Please." She whispered "I need to sit down."

The man behind her loosened his grip before swearing next to her ear. He dragged her over to a hard wooden chair and pushed her into it. Before she knew it her hands were behind her, bound to the chair with a piece of harsh rope. She waited until the man moved away from her before tested the bindings. It probably wouldn't take her very long to work her way free. She was distracted however, when her captor moved to sit on the bed in front of her. He was young. Probably only in his late teens. He had sandy brown hair, dark brown eyes and a scar that ran down his cheek in silver lines. She imaged that he would be rather good looking if he was given a bath, and smiled a bit more.

"Why?" she asked, slowly taking in his youthful appearance. He shrugged and started cleaning his filthy nails with the knife.

"Have you ever been to the Iron Islands?" he asked and Elsie shook her head "Its a hard place, bitterly cold in winter. Nothing grows there. To survive we have steal from passing ships, murdering countless people. Paying the Iron Price for things, you southerners call it. We get looked down on because of what we do to survive. But every time we've asked the crown for help, they turn a blind eye. We take a village near the coast and the crown takes it back. Why should we suffer, while you southerners hold elaborate feasts, where the food that is wasted could feed my family for a year?"

"War is not the way." Elsie tried, allowing her Northern accent to seep in, hoping against hope that it would comfort the boy

"War is the only way left." He answered sharply, getting to his feet. Elsie flinched but he swept past her, back to the door. She watched as he checked that that door was locked, before moving to the window and staring out. The knife was still in his hands, but his grip had loosened and Elsie could see his hands shaking. She gritted her teeth has another wave of pain shot through her. She couldn't deny it anymore, these weren't like any of the pains she'd had before. The baby was coming, and she was being held hostage in her room while her husband faced an army of Iron Born in their courtyard and the gods only knew where Maester Clark was.

'It would be better to kill you." The boy said harshly, turning back towards her, a hard look back in his eyes.

"Please" Elsie said, the fear returning to her.

"It would probably be a blessing." He continued as if he hadn't heard her. "You'll be nothing once he's gone, and that baby will just grow up to be another spoilt southern Lord, taught to look down on people like me."

"He won't." Elsie said, wishing she could curl her arms around her belly "He's my son. I promise to teach him what's right."

"Don't lie! I see the disgust in your eyes! The pity!"

"You're right." She said "It is pity. Its pity because, you shouldn't be here. You should be eating stew at your mothers table, teaching your brothers to skip rocks like your father taught you. Making sure no one hurts your little sister. You shouldn't be so far from home, holding a pregnant woman hostage."

"Your Husband took that away from me."

"No he didn't. He has nothing to do with the Iron Islands, nothing to do with the Crown. The current king can't be blamed either. He fought for the Freedom of this land."

"He hasn't changed anything.'

"No, he hasn't." She agreed "and that was wrong of him." It occurred to her that what she was saying was highly treasonous but she couldn't bring herself to herself to care. The boy went quiet, his body relaxing and Elsie dared to let lose the deep breath she had been holding. But the hard look covered his face again and he stepped around her, putting the knife back at her throat.

"That's enough talk. "He growled. Elsie finally managed to get her hands free from her bindings and brought them up to the knife. She felt the edge of the blade dig deeply into the palms of her hands as she launched herself backwards. The chair she had been sitting on clattered to the ground, causing her to trip over it as she reared against the man. They struggled, knocking into the bed, the wardrobe, desks and tables. Candle sticks hit the ground, books and vases hit the walls before sliding to the floor with a thud. Elsie screamed as he tugged on her hair, the dagger cutting deeper into her hands. They both hit the ground and rolled over one another, both fighting for the upper hand. Elsie felt a piece f cold metal under her hand and she snatched it up, before bringing the pin of her brooch up and into his left eye. The boy screamed, and launched away from her and onto his feet. The door to her room was thrown off its hinges, and a the hilt of a sword was brought down upon the boy's head. He collapsed, unconscious a few steps away from her. Elsie took a shuddering breath and painfully rolled in to a ball around her belly, the blood from her hands smearing the floor beneath her. She looked up at the door way to see a slim man, dressed all in black standing there carrying a sword that bore the sigil of Riverrun.

"Find Maester Clark." She told the man, before laying her head on the floor and allowing her eyes to fall shut.

 **Eeeekkkk! Thoughts, as always, are welcomed and cherished!**


	20. Chapter 20

**Thank you so much to all of you who have reviewed! They make writing so much more rewarding. I'm also now on AO3, under the name QRN. I'm going to try and have another chapter out before Christmas, but if I don't succeed, I wish you all a very Merry Christmas!**

 **Also, I did enjoy the new text santa. Made my Chelsie heart sing!**

Charles stiffened as the man in front of him stepped forward. He as taller than Charles had realized, towering over Charles by at least half a head. His steel grey hair hung in greasy rat tails around his face and his hard eyes had virtually no colour apart from a dark ring around his iris. His face was lined, and he seemed to have several teeth made from gold. He was surprisingly well dressed, despite having had to ride for weeks, in leather breaches, woolen shirt and a velvet cloak. All the clothes had clearly been stolen from a merchant ship coming in from the eastern isles, as none of the men that surrounded him were dressed in anything like it.

"I would say I am charmed to meet you too, but I don't know who I am addressing." Charles answered as calmly as he could; a familiar icy tone accompanying his words. One he hadn't heard since his father had died. He hadn't heard him use it often, but Charles had always known to stay well out of his way when he did.

"You are addressing Lord Balon Greyiron, Salt king of the Iron Islands. " The man answered, in a tone that suggested that Charles should already know who he was.

Charles suddenly remembered something his Maester had told him when he was a young boy. When the Iron born had ruled themselves, they had two kings. The Rock king, who ruled the islands themselves, and the people that lived upon them, and the Salt King, who ruled the seas and captained their fleet. Often, the Rock king was he quieter of the two, only having to contend with the common petty issues that lived on in little villages. The Salt king, however was usually a man who had spent his life on the seas, stealing pillaging and raping. He was hardened against cruelty and had spent his life planning strategy after strategy. They were masters at combat, both on land and at sea and would stop at nothing to stay alive.

"Welcome to Riverrun Lord Balon. How may we be of assistance?" Maester Clark said, slipping from the dark shadows in the silent way he had. Charles glared at him and he shook his head slightly, his benign expression hardly wavering.

"Well, how nice it is to finally meet someone with manners." Balon Greyiron said with a smirk towards his men. They all snickered in response "But unfortunately Maester there is nothing you can offer us. We came for an audience with the King."

Charles heard someone moving behind him. He turned to find it was his squire Jon, dressed in armour with his sword at his side. Charles knew that he couldn't be trusted, but he was the only one close enough so he reached out and grasped his elbow.

"Jon" he whispered urgently "Find my wife."

"Certainly my Lord. "Jon said in a normal voice, while prying himself loose from Charles grip. Charles nodded and let him go. To his horror, Jon stepped past him instead of going back into the great hall.

"Jon" Lord Greyiron said, extending his arms and enveloping Jon in a welcoming embrace. They exchanged a few whispers, nodding towards the gates, Charles and then to the tower where he and Elsie's chambers were located. A cold wash of fear crept over him. His wife didn't seem to be out here, which meant she was either in the library or in their rooms. He hoped she was safe, preferably unaware of what was happening outside.

"Jon here is our hero." Greyiron announced to the crowd "He is what made it so very easy to invite ourselves to this feast. He shall hereby be known as Lord of Riverrun, when the Ironborn rule!"

Jon grinned and waved at the Ironborn crowd, who had let out a yell before turning to face Charles.

'Why?" Charles asked. He wasn't sure if Jon could hear him, but he was sure Jon would guess what he had said. Jon waited until the crowd had died down before saying in a low, dangerous tone

"My three older brothers fought for you at the battle for the Crown. Two were killed and one was injured. He'll never be able to walk again because he lost a leg due to infection. My two brothers were left behind, on a bloody field in an unmarked grave. I watched my mother fade away, knowing that her two sons would never come home. We never got anything in return for them giving their lives to protect you. My little sister is starving because our brother can never make an honest living again. "

Charles tried to respond but Jon kept going

"But your father was brought home. Given a proper burial on the river, as all Riverland men plan for. It is our custom. Yet none of the Riverland men were given that right."

"I would have brought each and every one of them home if I could have." Charles said "I did my best to honor their wishes, but it was impossible."

"LIES! You didn't care about them. Neither did your father. The Iron Born brought home all their dead. They were given a proper burial to the drowned god."

"It's true." Lord Greyiron said, brushing a bit of imaginary lint off his cloak while wearing a sly smile. "Tell me Lord Carson, why were your men not given the same? We have much further to travel than you do."

Charles narrowed his eyes, remembering his father's rage when he discovered that the Ironborn had only sent a small portion of their army. At the very most they would have lost twenty men, which was small when one considered the hundreds the Crown had lost that day.

He tried again to answer but as the King stepped out of the Great hall and stood next to Charles with his sword drawn Lord Greyiron held up one gloved hand.

"Enough talk. It's time we-"

Lord Greyiron, crumbled to the ground before he could finish his sentence, an arrow embedded in his chest. Silence fell as the Ironborn stared at their dead leader. Charles glanced up at the castle walls, squinting past the fire light to see who had let the arrow fly. A man stood on the battlements, a cloak wrapping around his body as he lowered the bow. Charles watched as the man strapped the bow to his shoulder, before drawing a large sword and striding away. It was impossible to tell who it was, but inwardly Charles knew whoever it was had just saved his life.

He turned his attention back to the Ironborn, who's expressions of surprise and shock were slowly turning to one of fury. Charles gripped his sword hilt and waited, unsure of what to do.

"They killed him" Jon said, turning to the Ironborn "Let us be sure he did not die in vain, as my brothers did!"

There was a stunned silence before they let out a yell and charged. Charles drew his sword and prepared to defend the doors of the great hall when the man in black stood next to him. The man took hold of Maester Clark's elbow and whispered something in his ear before roughly pushing him indoors. He then took his place next to Charles, sword gripped in front of him before he pushed his hood off.

It was his brother. Thomas.

 **I'm going to be utterly shameless here and tell you that reviews can be birthday presents. Lol, I'm just kidding but I would love to know your thoughts!**


	21. Chapter 21

**Happy new year to everyone who has been following this! Thank you so much for every review that you guys are so generous with!**

"What are you doing here?" Charles asked his brother, incredulously. His brother had changed, his face more angular, his eyes sharper. It was almost as though he had aged ten years in the last few months. It suited him though; he was leaner, fitter and faster on his feet. He carried himself with an air of confidence.

"Charles, as much as I would like to chat" Thomas growled, bringing his sword up just in time to block a strike from one of the Ironborn "now really isn't the time!"

Charles grunted in agreement and raised his own sword to join the fight.

It was almost as though the last few months had never happened; he was back on the riverbanks further down South, fighting the King's men. His sword struck as true as it always had, meeting its mark more often than not but there was an underlying sense of panic that tainted every stroke.

He didn't know where his wife was, heavily pregnant as she was she couldn't have gotten very far. He didn't even know where Maester Clark was, though he suspected Thomas knew. He hoped that she wasn't hurt.

"For the love of the gods My lord, pay attention!" one of his men shouted, intercepting another sword strike and retaliating with one of his own. Charles shook his head to clear it and did his best to concentrate. He would worry about his wife once this battle was one.

He lost count of the many men he cut down, he did his best to injure rather than kill, but he knew that several had left him with no choice. He'd lost sight of Thomas, who was whirling his way through the fight like someone had set his blood on fire and two of the King's men fought on either side of him.

He knocked the man in front of him out with the butt of his sword and turned to meet the next one. But as he raised his sword, he faltered. It was Jon, the man he thought he had gotten to know since the last battle.

"Don't do this Jon." He implored. The man sneered in reply and raised his hammer

"And why shouldn't I?" he demanded, before bring the hammer crashing down.

Charles ducked, and desperately swung his own weapon. Jon was younger and stronger, but his weapon was heavy. If Charles could tire him out, then perhaps he might have a chance of survival.

"You're brothers wouldn't want you to do this. James and Mark. They died for peace, not for more war."

"Don't you dare speak their names!" Jon yelled, swinging wildly and hitting a fence post instead of Charles, who quickly moved behind him.

"Their names were James and Mark." Charles stated calmly "and they died in the battle of The Crown. They died so that you would not be forced to work in the salt mines and so your little sister would not end up in a brothel. They died, to save you."

"They shouldn't have died!" Jon replied, his swings getting more and more erratic.

"No, they shouldn't have." Thomas said, stepping up behind Jon and resting his sword on the young man's shoulder "and neither should you. Yield."

Jon swung around and Charles used to opportunity to kick his legs out from under him. He hit the dust and Thomas pointed his sword at his chest.

"Yield." He repeated, his tone hardening into one Charles had never heard before. Jon looked up, tears streaming from his eyes and mud splattered over his clothes and face.

"And to whom am I yielding to?" he spat "the man that ran from his duty?"

Thomas flinched, but his face hardened again, so it was barely a flash

"You are yielding to Thomas Carson, Second of his name, Lord Commander of The Nights Watch and Castle Black. " Thomas told him, digging the point of his sword into Jon's chest "Yield and swear an oath of Loyalty to the Night Watch. Or die, right here, fighting the men of your home."

Jon was quiet, before rolling so that he was balanced on his knees

"I yield." He whispered, in a tired and defeated tone. "I pledge my life to the Nights Watch, from this night until the end of my nights."

Thomas paused, before nodding and taking a step back. He clicked his fingers and another man dressed all in black appeared at his side. Charles hadn't even noticed that he had brought other men with him.

"Place him in the Dungeons. We take him with us when we leave. Round up the other survivors as well. Surrender or face death."

The man nodded and hauled Jon to his feet, carting him off in the vague direction of the dungeons.

Charles looked around to find the battle mostly over. A few lone men stood fighting but most had either surrendered or run.

"One thing I hate about the Iron Born. " Thomas spat, using a fistful of his cloak to clean his sword before sheathing it at his side "is as soon as their leader is gone, they turn into a bunch of bloody cowards."

"Lord Commander?" Charles asked, following suit.

"Yes. As it turns out that not many of the brave men in the Night's Watch have ever been taught how to use a sword properly." Thomas answered, a tired smile crossing his face. "Charles, there's a lot we need to talk about. There are a lot of things I need to apologize for-"

"No there isn't."

"Yes. There is. But once again, now is not the time. I have an assortment of injured recruits to contend with, and you, if I am not very much mistaken, are about to become a father. She's in her room. Go."

Before Charles could answer, Thomas had strode off, barking orders as he went. Charles stared after him in amazement, before turning and hurrying inside.

(())(())

Maester Clark had barred the doors leading into their Chambers and was refusing to open them until it was all over. Charles paced frantically in front of them, hands clenched so tightly that his nails were biting into his own skin.

He could hear that she was in pain, her cries echoing around him in the small corridor. Maester Clark was murmuring quietly, too quietly for him to hear what he was saying. It made Charles want to punch something.

One of the maids had handed him a wet cloth to remove most of the dirt from battle, which he had done before throwing it down the stairs in an attempt to stop himself from beating down the door.

Eventually, it had all fallen silent before the angry cry of a new born filled the air. There were more murmurs and Charles strained to hear what was said. He needed to know that she was alright, prayed to every god that he could think of that she was alright.

It seemed an age before the Maester finally opened the door, and Charles practically fell through it. He was ashamed to admit that he barely spared a glance to the bundle in her arms, but instead he hungrily searched her face.

She was tired, her face pale and her hair, damp from sweat, clung to her temples. She was dressed in a loose nightgown and someone had propped her up on several pillows. Charles had never seen her look more beautiful.

"You're alright." He whispered to himself, and Elsie looked up, a smile lighting up her face.

"So are you." She answered softly. He hurried towards her and placed a firm, but quick kiss on her lips. Elsie reached up and gently touched his face, before turning her attention to the baby in her arms.

"Meet your son Charles." She whispered, pulling the blankets back a little so Charles could see his face. Charles felt his eyes fill with tears, as he looked down at the sleeping baby. His tiny fingers were lightly grasping at the air, his lips lightly parted as he slept.

"He's perfect. " Charles whispered and Elsie nodded in agreement. "what are we going to call him?"

"I thought Robert." Elsie said, turning to look at him "after your brother. And Elliot, after my father."

"I like it." Charles stated, his finger reaching out to gently stroke his son's cheek. "Robert Elliot Carson."


	22. Chapter 22

**Many of you might be a bit upset with me for ending it like this. I'm sorry. I debated about writing a few more chapters of them raising children and all, but this has been such a dramatic fic, that I felt it would ruin the tone. (as well as bore me to tears, sorry to say.)**

 **I hope you enjoy it and will consider leaving me on final review on this chapter. Thank you all so much for the support. I am truly touched.**

My name is Tom Branson, Lord of Winterfell and the North. Many of you have heard of me, although you may have not, hence my introduction. My story began when I was a young lad and was taken by my father to work one day. While playing with some of the other boys, I soon discovered that I was good with a Sword. The man whom my father worked for, saw my potential as a Swordsman and arranged for me to train with his ward. Lord Elliot Hughes had two daughters, who were beautiful both inside and out. He taught them to stand up for themselves yet be kind and loving, to be gracious yet firm. Being daughters however, they couldn't inherit his title, so the title of Lord of Winterfell and the North, eventually fell to me.

I am old now, my hands are curled and scarred from years of sword fighting, and my bones ache in the cold. I have a two children, a set of twins. Norman, named after a character in a story book my wife had grown up with, and Sybil, named after my wife, who left me a few hours after their birth. I have done my best to raise them and teach them well, the same way Lord Hughes raised me and his two daughters.

However, this was never my story. This is the final chapter of the story of Lord Hughes's eldest daughter, a woman named Elsbeth Carson, and the mark she left on the history of Downton.

Lord Hughes had two daughters, Elsbeth who was the oldest and Rebecca, the youngest. Becky was a girl who had had a difficult birth and had never grown as she should. She was never married, and due to her constant poor health, left this world on a winters day when she was still a girl of twenty three. She had been beautiful, and most will always remember her for her kindness, and endearing way of looking at the world. Her sister, however, is the one that helped shape our country.

When I first met Elsbeth, or Elsie, as we all called her, she was a fresh faced young lady who loved to explore, ride and read love stories. In Elsie's young mind, she would be marrying a prince from a rich family and they would live happily ever after. Alas, her dreams were shattered when she was told by her father that she would be marrying Robert Carson, Heir to the Riverlands.

The country at the time was being torn apart by a war caused by the peoples displeasure with the crown. Elsie's marriage would cement the alliance between The Riverlands and The North, in the hope that the two armies combined, along with several minor Lords, would be enough to finally end the terrible ways the people were being treated.

Unfortunately, a few days before Elsie was due to leave for the Riverlands with me as her personal guard, a Raven arrived, informing us of Robert's death. The marriage was still happening though, with Elsie marrying Robert's younger brother instead. His name was Charles Carson, and he was now heir to the title.

Naturally, I attended her wedding, watching as she bravely walked to marry a man she had barely met and the very next day I rode with her new husband and his father to battle in the South. In the months away, I got to know Charles, and found him to be a kind and sensitive man. He was not one to be underestimated, however, as once angered there was no stopping him.

Charles' father was killed in battle, leaving Charles as a very young Lord of Riverrun. We won the war, however, and I rode home with Charles. I'll never forget the look on her face when Charles rode through the gates. I had grown to like Charles in the months away, but Elsie had managed to fall in love with him over night and even more miraculously, stay in love with him over the better half a year that he'd been away.

I attended the funeral for his father, and rode home with the Northern men straight afterwards. I didn't hear from her for a few months after that, until I received a Raven from her announcing that she was expecting a child and inviting me to a feast. For reason's I cannot now remember, I couldn't attend, something I have regretted ever since.

A battle ensued at the feast, the ruthless Iron Born not happy with their lives as pirates any longer. During this battle Elsie was held captor in her chambers, until Charles' younger brother, Thomas, arrived with the men of the Nights Watch and effectively saved their lives.

Elsie's son was born that night, a lad named Robert Elliot Carson. Robert is now King, after the Painswick's never produced any children and I am proud to call him my King. He has his Father's level head, and his mothers quiet kindness . Robert changed history by refusing to marry a woman from his own country choosing instead to marry a rich heiress from across the Narrow Sea, named Cora. She was beautiful, tall and slender with midnight black hair and large blue eyes.

She makes a good Queen, elegant and gracious, and in many ways she completes Robert, the same way his parents completed one another. The Kingdom could not be in better hands and peace has reigned ever since he was crowned.

Elsie's second son was born three years later, and named Thomas Edward. As Robert was King, he became Lord of the Riverlands. He was also just and fair and looked a lot like his Uncle, whom he was named after.

His uncle remained Lord Commander of the Nights Watch until his age started getting the better of him. He no longer leads the men beyond the walls, instead choosing another of his men to take over. He remains as the voice of the watch and the decision maker. I have met him several times, when we have both visited the Carson's and have never known a man more devoted to his vows. He tends to sulk, a habit that his nephew had unfortunately inherited, but most of the time both of them are proud men, with a high sense of honour.

Charles and Elsie continued to live happily at Riverrun, and visited the North a fair few times as well. To this day their love remains something to be admired and written about. The patience, devotion and respect they had for another was something I rarely see in other couples. They had their arguments, as any married couple does but they ran Riverrun with love and high standards, and its because of them that Riverrun remains the Powerhouse it is today.

Elsie's daughter came as a bit of a surprise for many, coming into the world almost ten years after her brothers. Her name is Charlotte Bethany Carson, and I have never met such a fired up young lass. She is the spitting image of her mother, and a hell cat if ever there was one. She has always loved the wilder side of life, always looking for the next adventure. But do not take that to mean that she was not one of the loveliest ladies you could hope to meet. She fell head over heels in love with a very handsome man, although I fear my son has no idea what he's taking on by marrying her. I hope they will rule the North wisely.

Charles and Elsie, have sadly both passed on. They died a few days apart from one another, him from a fever that took him in the night, and her of a broken heart. I managed to attend their joint funeral, and while my heart aches that they are no longer here it seemed fitting that they took that final journey down the River together. As Elsie was from the North, I made sure that they both had a memorial statute placed here in our crypts, side by side as they always have been.

As I said before, I have grown old and I am not as needed as I once was. I know that it will not be long before it is my time to leave as well. I do not fear it, for I know that I shall be reunited with my Sybil and I know that Charles and Elsie will be there waiting for me, hand in hand like they always were when I visited Riverrun.

He was hers, and she was his. From that day. Until the end of their days.


End file.
